Chapter Text
So. Here’s the thing. It’s not abuse.
Penny’s thought about it long and hard, and she’s pretty fucking certain that she’d know if she was being abused, but she’s kind of unsure what to call this predicament she has going on here. It confuses her, and it confuses Skip, and the both of them just kind of stand at an…impasse.
Abuse requires the power of one individual over another, and then the misuse of said power, but who has the power of whom here? Because sometimes she can’t breathe, Skip’s hands lingering a little too long on the small of her back or the inside of her thigh and she wonders who the fuck thought it’d be a good idea to let a grown man foster a teenage girl, and sometimes he’s pulling her hair only to slam her face into the fridge door. But, on the other hand, it usually just ends up with them sitting there, her glaring at him as he nurses his broken nose and black eye while she presses frozen peas to the one she has to match.
Your guardian traumatize you? Just traumatize them back, that’s what I did to my parents, MJ had told her one night, and she’s taken the words to heart ever since. She’s Spiderman for fuck’s sake, and maybe she’s not the man part but it still counts.
It had been abuse before. When she’d been small, six and a half and naïve, and when May and Ben had been alive. He’d been good. He’d been so good. Her best friend, her savior, the boy she spoke about space to and watched Toy Story with until she fell asleep (she still can’t watch that damn movie). He’d taken advantage of her, plain as that, and it had been rape. Penny was a smart girl, she knew he wouldn’t go to prison (a perfect record, squeaky clean, 17 years old and already offered a university scholarship, not sufficient evidence), and she’d been dealing. Her aunt and uncle would only be put through more pain, so she let it go. Besides, he hadn’t put anything except fingers in her. She was small, it’d hurt her far too much, she wouldn’t be able to hide it, and Skip wasn’t stupid. It could’ve been worse, she was grateful.
And then came the nightmares, the bed-wetting, the fear. She blamed it all on her parents’ death, her aunt’s quiet murmurs of her “coping” and “trauma” floating around the apartment late at night while they thought she was asleep. And then they’d gotten her a therapist, at the ripe age of eight. Five months after Skip had left.
He was a secret she’d have to take to the grave. She’d learnt early on that she’d have to lie, and lie well at that. It was horrible at first, her stuttering and red ears giving everything away, until it became natural. And still the therapist had figured it out. “Penny, did anyone ever touch you in a way you didn’t like?” Her aunt had asked her once, softly. And Penny had felt her heart drop.
Still, she was determined if nothing, and furrowed her brows and said, with as much conviction as possible, “Yeah, this one time I put my hand on Ned’s mouth to shut him up and he licked me, that was gross. And one of Uncle Ben’s friends squeezed my cheek with a hand covered in burger sauce, also gross, and the time you ruffled my hair but forgot you had burnt beans covering the glove and-”
“Okay, okay,” May had answered, laughing, relief clearly written across her face, and Ben relaxed substantially, smiling softly, and Penny knew in that moment that she’d done the right thing.
And then she got bitten by a fucking spider, and her life changed. But her uncle still loved her, even through the nights of screaming and excruciating pain, and her aunt was still there, a comforting presence.
And then they died, and the world came crashing down. She blamed herself for ages, still does, and she was put into foster care, and expected to go on like nothing happened.
And then the Ellisons happened. Stupid, perfect fucking family in the suburbs, but the husband drank, and the mother was obsessed with Penny, to the point where, if her hand dipped a little too low or a little too in, Penny was expected to just shut up and deal with it. And if she didn’t? Her foster mother would just smile sweetly and then she’d be starving for a week (her enhanced metabolism wouldn’t let her live starved for a week, and she’d resorted to rifling through dumpsters for food). Her foster father just beat the shit out of her. She couldn’t fight back, not with her enhanced strength that she could barely control, so she let him. The man still confused her, honestly. Why would you look at a thirteen-year-old and immediately go ‘punching bag’. Fuck that man.
And then she got the Midtown scholarship and her family was so proud, she dined like a queen for two weeks, and was left untouched by both for three. Then she became Spiderman, which resulted in a broken curfew, and in retaliation, broken bones, and fingers inside her for the first time and dear lord she couldn’t breathe she needed out why was she doing this she wanted to die she wanted to kill them she needed to get away to get out out out out-
She ran.
Midtown still happened, the Ellison family pretended she’d never happened, and life was good. She was on the streets, yes, but it was okay, because it was the middle of summer and New York had good public libraries and shelters.
Then Toomes happened, and it was all a blur. Literal Iron Man yelling at her, and shame so bright it nearly blinded her. She hadn’t felt this way since Skip, and she vowed to make it right. She crashed his plane, yes, but she also wrote a sorry note and saved his tech (she considered writing fuck you, but the world had made her bitter, not impolite), so it evened out.
Rubble everywhere smoke in your lungs dust burns help help help somebody crushing me crushing can’t can’t can’t move please help I don’t want to die Ben please I’m sorry why me help hurts May
So, yeah, life was good. Then she’d made the mistake of letting Skip in her life, again.
For a supposed genius, she sure was a huge motherfucking idiot.
He’d seen her, first, although her Spider-sense had been positively blaring at her. In her defence, she’d been looking for bombs and alien tech, not child rapists. He was older now, and by the time she’d gotten out of her frozen stupor, he’d paid for her groceries as well as his.
He grinned at her, the same smile he’d had when they played superheroes or drank lemonade under the sun (or when he had her face pushed into the pillow strangling-) and she couldn’t breathe. All it took was him saying “Her Einstein,” in that casual tone of his and she was gone, panic pulling her under, blood thrumming in her ears, and he panicked, eyes wide and confused.
She distantly made out a series of sounds, swearing, people asking him what’s wrong, him dragging her out the grocery store and into a nearby alley (his hands on her why why why) and then the words she’d yearned to hear, somehow snapping her out of it. “I’m sorry,”
“Wh-what?” Her voice was embarrassingly croaky and hoarse, but he didn’t mind. He hovered a few feet away, respectfully giving her space, and she wondered if he really had changed.
He’s not a fucking diaper don’t listen to him.
But he said-
No.
People can change, this is closure, he was my friend.
And your rapist. You were a child.
So was he.
She cannot believe that she’s losing so badly in an argument with herself.
“I’m sorry,” he starts again, and he looks distraught, eyes red-rimmed and shoulders sagging, “I-when I was a kid, I was such an asshole. I probably fucked you up big time and you don’t-you don’t deserve that, nobody does, and I’m so sorry, Penny-girl,” the name sends shivers through her, but she lets him continue, “If I could fix everything, I would. Hell, I’d kill myself if it meant you’d get better,” He scrubs a hand down his face, “I know it doesn’t fix anything, but I am so sorry. I-God, I was disgusting,”
“It’s okay,” comes back her voice, quiet, meek, because she’s still in shock.
“No, it’s not. I deserve to be fucked up,”
“You were a child, Skip, we make mistakes,” she says it slowly, even though the words feel bitter, the name foreign yet familiar in her mouth. She hasn’t said it in so long.
He offers her a hand, and she flinches, before hesitantly accepting. He doesn’t notice, pulling her up to her feet. “I-uh, here,” he stutters, thrusting her bag into her hands. The groceries are definitely more than what she’d bought. She’d gotten a croissant and bandages, this bag is huge, overflowing with stuff.
She stares, face red, as she counts the items. Chocolate, pads, shampoo, soap, toothbrush, fruit, granola bars, pasta, coffee-
“You looked, uh, beat,” he explains nervously, and then cringes, “Sorry, I mean, you didn’t look your best so I thought-I’m sorry if I overstepped-”
Now it looks like Skip is the one on the verge of a panic attack. “Thank you,” she interrupts, quietly, and then adds, “and yeah, I am beat,”
“Foster home isn’t doing it for you?” he jokes, concern underlying his tone.
“What home?” She should’ve known there, that she’d given too much information away, she’d just revealed that she was homeless, unprotected, but she sees Skip’s eyes go wide in horror and decides to chide herself later.
“You don’t have a home? You’re on the street? Jesus, Pen, you’re a child. My place is free if-” He freezes. She’s kept her reaction neutral, though she can’t help the twitching of her fingers in the direction of her webshooters on instinct. Instead, he continues, somehow more horrified, “Sorry, I didn’t-sorry. I, uh, here,” and he fishes his wallet out of his pockets and all but shoves five hundred dollars into her hands.
“Skip, I can’t take this,”
“You should, you need it, Penny-girl. I’m sorry for offering you my place, not my best move, I’m a little stupid and more than a little freaked out, okay? Even so, the offer stands. I will do nothing you don’t want me to, okay? I’ll even leave if that’s what you want, but let me help you now, while I can. Let me,” he takes a deep breath in, and Penny notices that his eyes are glassy with tears, “Let me make it up to you,” he’s desperate. She nods, more for his sake than her own.
“Thank you,” she says quietly, and he shakes his head vehemently.
“No, thank you. I know this isn’t enough, I don’t think it’ll ever be, but,” he shrugs, awkward, and smiles at her sadly, “I owe it to you. Bye, Penny-girl,”
Only when she looks inside the grocery bag later that night does she realize that he’s written his phone number and address on the receipt.