Archive of Our Own

Saturday January 14, 2017

The daylight is dimming as Peter makes his way home, swinging with a light heart. He fought off two Wanna-Be rapists, a few bank robberies, and even helped a little girl find her dog that got off its leash. 

It had been a great patrol. Nothing straining, or taxing, just peaceful.

Maybe that’s where it went wrong. 

Aunt May is supposed to be on shift for another two hours, but as Peter makes his way into his dark bedroom, he realizes he misjudged the time by a lot .

Fuck.

Footsteps were right outside the door, and it swung open with force, slamming into the wall behind it. Aunt May was in the doorway, face pinched with anger as she stared at him down. 

Double fuck.

“Peter Benjamin Parker, you better start explaining where the hell you think you can go at the end of the day without telling me!” She yelled, hand flicking on the bedroom light. The warm subtle glow used to make him happy, seeing as Aunt May changed it out for him when he kept getting bad migraines, but now it’s his worst enemy. 

Watching her face fall in horror, to comprehension, to a blank stillness scared him. Peter’s heart started to race and his hands felt clammy and he couldn’t think because-

Oh my god he got caught, oh god he’s a horrible nephew for never telling her to her face and now she’s going to take away Spider-Man but he can’t abandon Queens he’s gonna be thrown to the streets–

He’s terrible.

Aunt May kept staring at him, and Peter saw the moment that she made up her mind. Felt it with his spidey-sense the moment something bad was going to happen. 

“Get out.” 

Peter blanches, eyes wide. His head was racing. 

Oh, thank God she’s not grounding him–She’s- what? 

“W-What?” 

Aunt May stands her ground, eyes steely as she waves a hand about. “Pack it up. Leave. I-I can’t–” She takes a shaky breath as her eyes become distant, as if she’s staring through him. “I can’t do this.” 

Pursing her lips, she turns on her heel. “Please leave, Spider-Man. I don’t like strangers in my home.” 

“Aunt May– wait- Please–” Peter scrambles away from the window and grabs onto her elbow. “Y-You’re joking, right? I know you’re mad b-but you can take anything away. No more lab days? No more sleepovers? Please– Aunt May- you’re–” Peter gasps as he feels his heart plummet and the tears spring into his eyes. 

He rips off his mask and swings his way around her body to look her in the eyes. “Please. You’re all I have left, Aunt May.” 

May shakes her head, eyes never meeting his. “I can’t do this, Peter. I can’t wait for you to die like–” She pauses, closing her eyes. “No, no. I just can’t do this anymore. Watching you run yourself ragged. I can’t watch you leave knowing you might not come home.” 

She grabs onto his shoulders in a death grip and finally looks into his eyes. Peter feels a cold sweat break out as his spidey-sense buzzes slowly.

“It’s me or the suit, Peter.” Aunt May says it as if it’s final, no wedging or wiggling room to change her mind. 

His breath caught before turning ragged, eyes blurring. He has to give it up. He can’t–for Ben– but for May- he has to stop. He can’t lose May–

What about Queens?

Does he matter more than Queens? 

May sighs, letting go of his shoulders. “I knew it. You can’t.” 

Stepping back, May bites her lip with a sparkle of tears in her eyes. “You’re too good-hearted, Pete. I can’t ask you to choose. It’s not fair.” 

Peter shakes his head, “Nonono– I’ll give it up- I’ll give the suit back to Mr. Stark–” 

Her eyes darken again at the name. “Stark? He knew? Before me?”

“Yes- but only to help–” Peter tries to continue but May holds up a hand. “Leave, Peter.” 

Aunt May shook off his hand when he tried to grab for her. She walks down the hallway of their home, away from him, and towards the kitchen. He could smell the food she had been cooking for him, for them. 

He ruined it. 

He fucks everything up. He hurt May- she’s hurt and it’s all his fault–

“I want you gone by the time I finish eating dinner, Peter.” May calls, and Peter closes his eyes. He takes in a breath and lets it out. 

It’s all his fault. He deserves this. He doesn’t deserve her care. His luck would have killed her off anyway. He’d be doing her a favor. 

Maybe he should do himself a favor and off himself. Who’d care anyway? 

Not him. Not May. Ben’s not there to care, because of him.

But he’s Spider-Man. That’s the only thing that keeps him going, because what else is the point? Spider-Man killed everyone he adored, so he might as well stick to it. 

The bag rustled in his hands as he stuffed clothes in as tight as he could manage, pictures into the side pockets. His wallet buried underneath it all as he shucked on a jacket. It was cold out and he wouldn’t make it without one. 

He’d freeze by morning. 

Peter bit his lip, eyes casting one final look around his bedroom. His childhood. 

His eyes catch on a picture still hanging on his wall of him, May, and Ben at the park. They were all smiling with ice cream stuck on Peter’s cheeks and the cone being held by his uncle as May ruffled his hair. 

It was a sweet moment caught in time, and Peter had to look away.

He’d never get something like it again. 

The hall was quiet as he made his way through the apartment. The kitchen light was still on and he could hear the sound of May’s heartbeat, the smell of alcohol burning his nostrils. 

Peter’s heart leapt into his throat as he stopped in front of the door, looking back over his shoulder. “I love you, Aunt May. I’m sorry.” 

There was no response. 

The sound of the door closing was deafening. Peter ran with tears streaming down his cheeks, because what else could he do? 

He couldn’t go home. Peter can’t go home, and it’s all his fault. 

I ain’t proud of all the punches that I’ve thrown

In the name of someone I no longer know

Wednesday January 18, 2017

School the next few days were hell. Everyone seemed to know that May had kicked him out and were staring at him with disgust or pity. One, for the way he looked like a fucking homeless person and stank like a skunk. The other, because they knew that May was the last of his family. 

Fan-fucking-tastic that they all know his damn business twenty-four-seven. 

No peace in this school. 

A hand lands on his shoulder and Peter nearly jumps onto the ceiling to pounce on the person who did it, but looking over his shoulder Peter calmed as he saw Ned. No one was going to hurt him. It was just his friend looking at him with worry.

Which, honestly, is not much better. He can handle himself. 

“Pete, can I talk to you?” Ned says softly, eyes darting about the hallway to everyone staring at them. Peter feels his heart drop but gives a stiff nod anyway. What's the point in driving Ned away? He’d come back anyway and scold him the whole way.

Peter follows after his best friend, weaving through the crowds of students in every hallway. When they finally make it to the locker room, Ned opens the door for Peter to walk in and looks both ways before shutting the door. 

His spider-sense spikes, making Peter's hair stand on edge as Ned locks the door. 

Peter doesn’t like this. Being cornered. He feels like a little kid that’s misbehaving. 

Ned gives him a look of palpable worry before brushing past him. “You need to shower, man. You can’t just let yourself go. You hate having eyes on you, and this will help.” 

The click of Ned’s locker opening makes Peter turn around as Ned drags out a pair of clothes that Peter had left at his house ages ago. 

It’s kind of sweet he didn’t throw them out. 

Ned sets them on the bench, dragging out an extremely fluffy purple towel with a squid on it.

Peter remembers the day he bought that for his best friend when he, May, and Ben were at the beach. Ned adored it and used it ever since, and Peter felt warm as he saw it being worn down over the years. 

“Go shower. I’ll keep watch on the door. I doubt Mr. Harrington will care that you’re late this morning as long as you don’t look half dead. I swear that man was about to have a heart attack when you walked in looking like a pale-ass skeleton Monday morning.” Ned looked away, waving a hand to the showers. 

Peter bites his lip a little, picking up the clothes and the towel. Ned didn’t shame him for his smell, for his lack of coordination, for his lack of talking for the past week. He stayed there like a steady presence at his side. 

Ned stayed. May didn’t. 

“Thanks, Ned.” Peter manages to get out before rushing his way into the showers. Just because Mr. Harrington would be lenient doesn’t mean he should take forever. 

He doesn’t need to make another adult in his life hate him, after all. 

The lunchroom smells of steamed broccoli and cheese as Peter walks in with Ned. It was like a punch to the gut with the amount of different foods that assault his senses. His stomach starts throwing a tantrum immediately and Peter wants to bash his head into the wall because he doesn’t have the money to calm it.

Again. 

Ned tugs on his arm slightly to one of the corner tables, a metal lunch box banging on the table just a bit too loudly for Peter’s taste. 

He slumps into the blue plastic seat, eyes flickering across the room. “Hey, Pete, you want this other sandwich? Mom packed way too much again.” 

Peter whipped his head back to Ned, a little skeptical. Even Ned’s mom knows he’s a pathetic little idiot that lives on the streets. Unloved. 

“Ah- uh, thanks Ned.” Peter grabs it and unwraps it. As much as he doesn’t want to take food from his friend, he knows that Mrs. Leeds will personally come to the school herself and tear him a new one if Ned reports that he didn’t eat it. Which, honestly, Peter does not want to deal with that shit at the current moment. 

The peanut butter and jelly coat his mouth, making the bread stick to the top as his spider sense spikes up again. All of his senses suddenly narrow into the sound of heel-like footsteps, the swaying of expensive fabric, and the voices of people he’s grown to actually hate. 

He sets the sandwich down. 

“Hey! Penis Parker, just the guy I was looking for!” Flash yells, drawing too much attention to their table then Peter would normally be comfortable with.

Another day, another jab, another instance that Peter has to be his weak little self and bury his head in the sand. Turn his cheek the other way for the next hit. Because Spider-Man doesn’t hurt civilians, and he chose Spider-Man over Peter Parker. 

Hands push their way under his armpits and hoist him up with a surprising amount of strength (though it might just because Peter hasn’t eaten anything and the spider bit made him feel like a fucking feather, which is annoying in a fight). The same hands force him to turn around to face the rest of the lunchroom and Peter feels a sinking feeling in his gut again. 

“So, Penis, how does it feel to be left alone?” Flash sneers, eyes alight with joy. His bully takes a few steps to put a little distance between them while pinching his nose. “Ew. I knew you always were on your knees for someone, Penis, but now you smell like it too. Alleyways doing it for you now?” 

Peter grits his teeth. Don’t hurt him. He doesn’t know what he’s talking about. 

“I think for someone who doesn’t like me, Flash, you talk about my dick a whole awful lot. You got something to say?” Peter bites out. He’s done. He can’t hit, but he can talk. 

Because what does he have to lose? Peter is worth nothing, and if Flash hits him–well, he deserves it, right? 

Flash splutters, cheeks tinting red slightly. Peter has only a moment of satisfaction before Flash gathers himself back together. “Mouthy today, aren’t you, Parker? What, the streets making you a little bitch now? Where’s your nice act gone, huh?”

Peter frowns, going to jump in before MJ comes up from behind Flash with a glare. “Honestly Flash, desperate isn’t a good look on you. Go find your fix somewhere else.” 

MJ shoves past Flash and goes to sit a seat down from Ned on the other side of the table. Flash glares at her. 

“Oh, shut up, Jones!” Flash turns back to him. “Need your girlfriend to fight your battles for you, huh? Is it because your Aunt left you? Is it because you’re so pathetic that she left you? That has to be the reason, doesn’t it? Puny Peter Parker can’t keep her from leaving either, so you replace her with Jones? I mean, I knew you had mommy issues, but I didn’t know you had that kind.” 

Peter feels rage build up. It feels thick and heavy as it clouds his mind. He insulted MJ, one of the best girls he knows. He insulted Aunt May. She’s done so much for Peter. She’s put up with his shit all these years– she doesn’t deserve her name to be tossed into the mud and stomped on. Aunt May doesn’t deserve the shit Flash spews. 

“Shut up.” Peter feels like throwing up. He wants to go home; he wants to sleep in his bed and hug his Aunt. But he can’t.

“Or what? You gonna cry? Is that what you did when your Aunt told you she doesn’t love you? That you’re such a fucking waste of space that she couldn’t even look at you anymore?” Flash laughs, eyes watching Peter’s dropping expression. “That’s it, isn’t it? She doesn’t love you, right? Oh, poor Jones, does she know how much of a fuck up you are?”

Peter’s swinging before he even notices he moved. A punch lands on Flash’s jaw, making Peter’s knuckles burn. The crack from Flash’s jaw barely registers in Peter’s head before he’s being tackled to the ground. 

His head bangs against the floor as fists pound into his face. Peter struggles to get his bearings for a moment before throwing a punch into Flash’s stomach and thrusting his hips up at the same time to knock him off. It worked enough for him to scramble off the floor and send another fist flying into Flash’s nose. 

He doesn’t care as he punches Flash over and over and over again. Anger burns through his veins and a wave of sadness sweeps through his being because Flash is right . 

Blood spews from Flash’s nose as his bully finally gets another hit in, this time at his throat which makes Peter choke and stop his assault. He barely has the time to catch his breath and dive back into the fight before hands are tugging at his shoulders and the voices he’s drowned out for the last couple of minutes come flooding in. 

“Er… Pe- er… PETER!” Ned screams into his ear loud enough for it to finally register. Peter tries to look at his friend but his vision blurs. Peter feels like passing out as the pain in his head grows, throbbing like a fucking jackhammer straight into his temples. 

“Peter! Hey- man, come on, I got to get you to the nurse– oh god there is so much blood– MJ, please!” Ned yells and Peter can barely keep up at another set of hands reaching for his feet. The sound of more yelling fills his senses, overwhelming his brain enough to send his headache to a new height of pain.

Peter doesn’t remember blacking out. 

It’s quiet when Peter wakes up, head pounding. The steady scratching of a pen on paper, calm heartbeat, and the clicking of a mouse fills his ears. It’s a peaceful atmosphere compared to the lunchroom. 

The chair scrapes back at what Peter assumes is the nurse's desk and the curtain surrounding his bed is pulled back quietly. The nurse looks at him for a moment, a brow raised. “Well, son, welcome to the land of the awake. How’s your head doing?” 

Peter gives a tense shrug as she ushers him to sit up slowly. The nurse grabs a plastic cup of water from the bedside and puts it into his hands. “Drink up, dear. I called your Aunt but she didn’t pick up, so I called your second emergency contact. He’ll be here soon, he should be in the office sorting out the fight you got into right about now.” 

Furrowing his brows, Peter gulps down the water quickly and passes back the cup to the nurse. “I-uh. I don’t have a second emergency contact.” 

The nurse raises a brow. “Well, then I guess they just didn’t tell you. The addition was made about three or so months ago. It’s someone named Anthony Parker, but that’s all I have on file, dear.” 

The name rings a bell to him, somehow, but Peter didn’t have the mental fortitude to go digging into his memories to figure out why. “Oh, okay. Thanks anyway.” 

She nods, patting his knee. “Of course. Now, you have a nasty concussion and a broken nose. You’ll have an excuse for P.E. until both heal.” 

Peter just nods dumbly as she makes her way from behind the curtain and to the other side of the office where he can hear another heartbeat, which he assumes is Flash.

Jesus,  he beat the hell out of a kid in anger. Peter should know better. Spider-Man should know better.

But he isn’t better. He’s a fuck up, an idiot, an ill-tempered jerk. 

He isn’t better than Flash, because only bullies hurt others. And Peter hurt him. 

He can’t help but think he deserves to be hurt too. 

The sound of the door to the nurse’s office opening snaps Peter out of his thoughts. Footsteps trail over to the nurse's desk, murmuring voices that he could pick up if he felt like it, gets closer until they’re right outside his curtain. 

Peter sees a shirt with an AC/DC logo and a pair of messy jeans from where he was looking at the floor. He can feel his entire body freeze up and shame burn through his being.

Tony. 

The nurse’s shoes step away, steps going back towards wherever her desk was as Tony shuts the curtains. 

A gentle hand rests on his shoulder and another one grazes his cheek lightly. “Hey, Roo, can you look at me?” Tony says softly. Peter couldn’t resist him. 

Looking up at him, Peter didn’t see anything he was expecting. He expected anger, or hate– shit, even annoyance at having to come to his school for a petty fucking fight, but there wasn’t any of that on his face. 

Just concern. 

Warmth fills his chest as Peter feels tears prick at the corner of his eyes. Tony’s face crumples, eyes so so soft and filled with something Peter can’t even begin to describe if he tried. “There you are, Pete. What happened?” 

Peter tries to swallow the lump in his throat as he looks past Tony’s head. He can’t stand looking at his mentor without the feeling of shame douse his entire being. 

He’s so fucking stupid, wasting Tony’s time. He has a company to run. Important things to do. Tony doesn’t have time for an idiotic kid screwing everything up. 

“I-It was my fault. I overreacted.” Peter responds. He overreacted by a long shot. Peter shouldn’t have hit him. Shouldn’t have started a needless fight and scare the other students, shouldn’t have drawn blood or hurt another person so badly –

Fingers lightly drum on the side of his face to catch his attention again. “Hey, none of that, Pete. I doubt it was your fault, but either way you’ve been suspended for a week in light of the fact the other boy was antagonizing you based on other student’s accounts.” 

Peter wants to cry, to scream or shout how unfair it all was because he didn’t mean to do it but he did and now he can’t come to school, his safe haven, for a week .

God he’s such a fuck-up. 

“I’m taking you home, alright? May wouldn’t pick up her phone, but you have your house key on you, right?” Tony continues, poster straightening out as he helps Peter to his feet. His vision blurs a little and his head goes a little foggy at the sudden movement, but he doesn’t say anything. 

“A-Ah, yeah. It's in my bag.” Which, apparently, was sitting in a chair by the nurse’s bed. Tony grabs it and tosses it over his shoulder. “Great. Let's get going, kid. You need to get some rest.” 

Peter follows behind blindly as Tony leads him out of school. The sun beats down directly into his eyes as they slip out the front doors. Before he can even wince, Tony puts a pair of sunglasses on his face.

Relief rushes through him along with gratitude. “T-Thanks, Mr. Stark.” 

Tony gives him a smile, patting his shoulder. “No problem, kid.”

The closer Peter gets to his old apartment building, the stronger the urge is to tell Tony that he can’t go back. That he can’t walk the old steps of the apartments just to leave again. To just be a stranger walking into a place he no longer lives.

It's too much to think about.

The car stops. Tony shifts a little in his seat before a hand lands on Peter’s shoulder. Startled out of his thoughts, Peter looks over. “I’ll see you next Wednesday, alright Pete?” 

He gives Tony the biggest smile he can muster with a quick nod. “‘Course Mr. Stark, I wouldn’t miss it for the world.” 

Tony gives him a strange look before waving him off, hand removing itself from his shoulder. 

Just five more minutes. Peter doesn’t want to go back; he doesn’t want to walk up those steps. He doesn’t want to leave. 

The car door clicks as the handle is pulled and Peter makes his way out. “Bye Mr. Stark!” Giving him a small smile, Peter shuts the door before turning around quickly. 

Once he makes his way into the lobby only then does Tony pull off, which leaves him alone in the place he used to walk through every day. The lady working the desk, Miss. Jean, if he remembers correctly, looks at him with confusion. 

“Hey Peter! Haven’t seen you around lately, where have you been?” She calls, a bemused smile on her lips. Peter gives her a strained one back. “Ah- Hey, Miss Jean. I’ve just, uh, been living with another relative we found out about. You know how complicated those things can get.” 

Miss Jean nods in understanding, hand waving towards the staircase. “I wish you luck, Peter. Take the stairs today, they’re working on the elevator again.” 

Peter takes the out while he can and rushes his way over and through the metal door. As soon as it shuts behind him, he unlocks the window in the stairway and pushes it up. It’s easier to get out on the first floor than his old one. It’d be too bright outside to crawl down from anything higher. 

The sun beats against his back as he climbs out, sliding his backpack through after him before closing the window as quietly as he could manage.

Peter has never felt more grateful that his luck hasn’t struck out just yet. 

Tony doesn’t know a thing, and if Peter has his way, he won’t find out at all. 

Saturday January 21, 2017

The shivers wouldn’t stop. His entire body is racked with them as Peter curls into himself further. The blanket is scratchy and rough against his skin, barely keeping in any warmth. It’s barely enough to even block the wind. 

But Peter doesn’t have anything else, so he stays curled up in misery in his little alley. His bag sits next to him, tucked into his side, as he stares blankly at the opposite wall. 

A flash cold was sprung on them early Friday morning, and Peter hasn’t got a clue on where to shelter up for a night or two. There's nowhere to go. He’s alone . 

Peter closes his eyes as his stomach cramps. He could barely think as the cold seeped into his jeans, the damp ground soaking his clothes, his stomach turning in on itself. It hurts. He wants to go home. 

He wants May.

May doesn’t want him, though. 

Tears started to drip down his face, falling onto his knees. It hurts to think about anything. His eyes burn, his fingers numb, and he could barely catch his breath.

He’s so cold. Tired. He wants to go to sleep. 

His stomach aches more, growling in protest as he shifts about to get more comfortable. It’s demanding and mind-consuming as the discomfort grows. Peter couldn’t concentrate, all he could think of was the food truck a block away selling everything hotdogs, or the vendor down the street with fried food he couldn’t differentiate. 

A scream cuts out his thoughts and makes him sit ramrod straight. Looking about the alley he can see a man with a struggling young boy. Peter frowns as he tries to get his eyes to focus. Why is he so worried? He can’t think. The boys crying, the man leering, but it doesn’t process in Peter’s brain. 

His vision blurs as he stands, making him stumble against the brick wall. It hurts to move as he treks his way through the alley toward the pair. Eyes narrowed against the growing sunlight from the street. 

As he gets a few yards away he can finally make out what they are saying.

That’s not normal. He can hear up to miles away. Why can’t he hear? Why can’t he see right? It hurts. It hurts- ithurts–

“Shut it, boy!” The man shouts, hand covering the young child’s mouth. His other hand starts grabbing at anything it can reach on the boy. Peter feels a well of disgust creep through the fog in his mind. Panic like no other floods through his body and makes his moves desperate because all he can think of is Skip looking at him like that–

Peter’s fist makes sloppy contact with the man’s chin. Completely off point of where he wanted to go, but it makes the man stumble regardless. His green eyes flash with something that makes Peter want to shrivel up and die. It makes him feel so… so dirty . 

“Hey, pretty boy. Wanted a little fun too, huh?” The man leers. It makes Peter shiver as the guys stare at him as if he’s a meal, something to own and devour without a hint of guilt in that intense expression. 

Peter’s hands tense as the man makes a move reaching out for him. He can barely get his limbs to cooperate before the man’s hand lands on his waist with a tight grip. 

Let go let go letgoletg–

Peter lashes out. The sound of the man’s head cracking against the other side of the alley doesn’t register in his head as he pounces. His fist digs into the man’s flesh, nails scraping against his face as he punches and hits as hard as he could manage because Skip won’t leave him alone; he's reaching out for Peter, and he can’t stop– he doesn’t want it.

Hurt him hurt him hurthim–

The feeling of a small hand on his shoulder makes Peter snap out of it. Blurry eyes look at the blood-soaked man and Peter feels like vomiting. He did that. He lashed out and hurt someone so badly that they might never get up again–

“Sir?” A young voice calls out, it sounds scared. Terrified. 

Peter turns to the voice, looking at the young boy he saved. Tension leaves his body as he sees the boy is okay aside from a few tears streaming down his cheeks. 

“Hey, kid.” Peter rasps, getting up from the man's body to block the kid’s vision of his attacker. “Let’s get you back to your parents, yeah?”

The boy nods, staring at Peter as if he doesn’t see him at all. 

Peter doesn’t blame him. 

“Is the man gonna be okay, sir?” The boy asks as he watches Peter wipe blood off on his dark jacket. Peter shrugs. “For the most part. Don’t worry about it, I’ll make sure he’s alright after I get you back to your parents. Capiche?” 

The boy smiles, nodding along before taking his hand. Peter feels a little warmth fill his heart. “My name's Derek, sir. What’s yours?”

Peter hums, picking up his bag from the alley before they walk out. “It’s Peter.”

He tries not to think about the looks that people give him going down the street. His ratty clothes, his strong stench. The eyebags resting on the top of his cheeks visibly noticeable against his sunken eyes. 

Peter could see himself in the reflection of a shop and he could barely prevent himself from wincing at the sight. He’s disgusting, hideous, nobody wants him–

“REK– DEREK!” 

Peter feels a tug on his hand as the boy speeds up, and he follows dutifully after him until they turn the corner. Two people who look worried as parents could be turned in their direction as Derek yells out.

“Mama, Papa!” Derek rushes up to his parents, jumping into their arms with a squeal of joy. 

Peter feels an ache start up in his chest again, eyes burning as he watches the parents hug their child. Eyes filled with warmth and concern. Nothing like May’s eyes which were harsh and cold and unforgiving of his stupid mistakes.

“Peter helped me out, Papa. There was this bad guy, and he was telling me to be quiet and-and Peter showed up and knocked him out like that!” Derek punctuated his sentence with a badly formed fist, eyes alight with admiration while looking back at Peter. “It was so cool! Peter says he’ll make sure the guy’s okay, but he said I needed to find you first, Papa.”

The boy's father looks at Peter then, eyes holding something akin of relief and thankfulness. “Thanks, son. I couldn’t…I wouldn’t bear something happening to him because of me.” 

Peter gives him a pained smile, because that’s all he can manage. Jesus, his head is pounding. “All in a day's work, yeah?” Peter responds politely, giving the young boy a wave. “I need to be on my way, so have a good one!”

Derek waves relentlessly as the parents thank him again. 

Peter leaves as fast as possible. He doesn’t deserve their thanks. He did what anyone would. 

The man was still laying still in an alley, beaten to hell in back. Peter glances at the watch Tony made him and debated on giving the police a call. On one hand, he can’t let the guy get away, on the other, they’ll ask to take his statement. 

He bites his lip in contemplation before sighing. Peter has to do the right thing, even if it might get him in trouble. 

Peter punches in the passcode before pulling up the call button then dials 911. This’ll be interesting. 

It rings only twice before the call is picked up. “911 what’s your emergency?” 

It was a lady's voice on the other side of the phone, but Peter didn’t really pay attention as he found a few abandoned shirts next to a nearby dumpster. He could shred them up to tie the guy. It’ll probably work. 

“Uh– there’s this man, on uhm, 7th Ave between 5th and 6th’s corner. The alley next to-” Peter shuffles a little bit to peak his head out, squinting at the brightly colored sign. “Some place called Deliah’s Nails. He was trying to kidnap a young boy, but he’s down for the count now.”

Peter bites his lip as he shreds the shirts, taking one of the long strips and tying it around the man’s wrist tightly. “I think he, uh, might need an ambulance? He cracked his head on the way down, from what I saw.” 

The sound of keys clacking filled the air as the woman typed. “Alright, has he been conscious at all since he’s fallen?” 

“No. Not that I know of.” Peter responds, going to stand up but his vision blurs. His head pounds violently as he stumbles back into the alley wall, backpack causing his weight to become unbalanced and send himself crashing against the metal trash can he was just digging in. 

The headache and pounding comes back with a vengeance. Dear fucking god is he tired.

“Sir? Are you alright? What happened?” The lady asks frantically, but it barely registers in Peter’s head. The cold from the metal is already seeping back into his clothes, reminding him that he is not, in fact, invincible or Spider-Man at the moment. 

Peter tries to respond, but it comes out more like a slur than anything. “S’ry m’am.” He starts, eyes going unfocused. “’st a l’il fall, not’in to worry ‘bout.”  

The voice from his watch grows louder and louder. He can make out bits and pieces as his mind begins to shut down. 

Peter closes his eyes. A nap sounds really good, actually. Peaceful, quiet. 

Alone.

He doesn’t hear the sound of the lady yelling into the watch, or the sirens of the ambulance. In fact, he doesn’t hear anything at all. 

Peter blacked out long before that. 

January 23, 2017

The lights are bright when Peter opens his eyes. His entire body tenses up in pain as he tries to roll over to get away from them. 

“FRI, lights at fifteen percent, please.” Someone says, but Peter can’t place the voice exactly. It feels like it's been too long. 

A hand gently pushes on his shoulder, making Peter turn back over. He makes sure to announce his disgruntlement all the way with a long groan. 

Fuck, that hurts. 

“Pete? Hey, kid, look at me will you?” Peter opens his eyes again, which are significantly less blurry now that he thinks about it. Tony’s face comes into focus enough for Peter to be able to see how worried he is, the tenseness in his shoulders. The squint of his eyes, furrow of his brow. 

Tony. He misses Tony. 

He misses May.

Peter feels like he’s going to throw up. “M’ster St’rk?” 

Tony smiles slightly, as if he’s been waiting for hours for Peter to say something. “Hey, bambino, how are you feeling?” 

Peter shifts slightly on the stiff bed. The sheets scratch against his arms unpleasantly as Peter takes stock of his body. Everything feels a little numb, and his stomach doesn’t hurt nearly as bad as it had last week. His headache has even gone away for the most part. But he does feel a little funny, which, now that he thinks about it, must be painkillers taking it all away. 

“Pe’chy, M’ster Stark.”

His mentor chuckles slightly, shaking his head with fondness. “I see that, Pete. I got a call a day or so ago saying you were in bad shape. What happened?” 

Peter purses his lips, letting his eyes go unfocused again. He doesn’t want to look at him when he says it. Peter can’t keep it in because he’s tired. He hates the streets; he hates the cold and the judgment and the pity.

Mr. Stark could fix it, right? He fixes everything. 

Embarrassment wells up in his chest regardless as he starts from the beginning. “M-May fo’nd out, ‘bout me being Sp’der-man. Kicked me out.” 

Tony slumps down in the chair next to Peter’s bedside, eyes sad. “Why didn’t you tell me kid?” 

Peter looks away, cheeks heating up a little. “It’s my fault.” 

His voice is still too thick to make the words out, but he hopes Tony heard them. He doesn’t want to repeat them. Tony will know he’s a failure, that he’s not enough. That he can’t be Spider-Man because he can’t even take care of himself when times get hard.

He’s so pathetic. 

A hand took his in a gentle grip, squeezing enough to get Peter’s attention. With reluctance, Peter looks back over to his mentor. 

Tony’s looking at him with a certain type of worry Peter’s never seen before. A certain kind of sadness that doesn’t have an inch of pity, just overwhelming concern and love that Peter doesn’t know what to say. 

“No, it’s not. You’re not at fault for May kicking you out. It was her decision, her choice. It had nothing on you, kid.” Tony’s hand tightens in his. “Have you been staying with a friend?” 

Peter licks his lips slightly, shaking his head. “No.”

Tony’s brows furrow, eyes confused. “Where have you been staying?” 

When Peter doesn’t respond, he can hear an intake of breath. He can’t look at Tony’s face as he figures it out. He doesn’t want to see the disappointment or disgust in his eyes. 

Peter wouldn’t be able to take it. 

“Pete–” Tony starts, “No. No no no. You haven’t been– Have you been on the streets?”

He could hear the crack of his mentor’s voice. Peter doesn’t want to confirm his suspicions. He doesn’t want to say anything at all. But he needs to. 

If he doesn’t say anything he’ll leave like May too.

All he could muster is a nod, but that’s all Tony seemed to need before pulling Peter in for a hug. 

The man that never hugs anyone, or touches, or embraces in any manner is hugging him .

Peter didn’t even realize how touch starved he’s been until he’s hugging Tony back and he can feel that bubble of warmth in his chest pop and spread through all his limbs. 

Tony’s hugging him. He doesn’t hate him. He won’t leave.

“Oh god, Pete– You should’ve-fuck.” Tony sniffs, arms tightening around Peter. “You should’ve told me, kid. I would’ve let you stay here. Actually, no, you are staying here whether you like it or not. I will not let you back onto the fucking streets.” 

Peter could feel tears swell up in his eyes before he closed them. A sob builds up in his chest until it breaks out in a broken, ugly gasp. He can’t stop himself as he sobs into Tony’s shoulder, as he soaks up the platitudes and assurances that his mentor whispers into his hair. 

“You’re safe now, kid. I’m going nowhere.” 

Tony’s staying. Tony won’t leave. 

Peter’s safe. 

For the shame of being young drunk and alone

Traffic lights and a transmitter radio

February 27, 2017

Ned frantically tapped on Peter’s shoulder as he was putting away his books, making him look over at his best friend. “What’s up, Ned?” 

Ned waves a purple envelope in Peter’s face, making his eyes cross as he tries to look at the neat handwriting on the outside of it. “Dude, I can’t see it if you’re waving it around.” 

His friend rolls his eyes, shoving it into Peter’s hands. “Dude, we’ve been invited to a party . Can you believe it?!” 

Peter furrows his brows, flipping the envelope over to look for who actually wrote it. “Yeah, okay. That's great and all, but how do we know it’s not a prank?” Ned huffs. “It’s the party Betty’s holding, remember? It’s the one everyone ’s been talking about!” 

Shutting his locker, Peter turns to face his friend fully. “I’m not sure about this Ned…I mean, I don’t think Mr. Stark will let me.” 

Ned frowns, pout already forming on his lips. “Well– Just say you’re gonna stay the night with me!”

“I don’t know Ned. I don’t want to lie to him.” Peter responds, a little taken aback. He knows that Ned has always wanted to be considered cool, but a party? That’s just begging for trouble. Especially with his luck. 

His friend sighs, “Alright, Pete. Just…ask, would you?” 

Peter gives in, “Alright, fine fine. I’ll ask him. No guarantees, though.” 

Ned's visibility lights up again. “Of course! Now, what do you think we should wear? What drinks do you think they’ll have? How about Be…” 

Peter zones out his friend, watching the excitement permeate his being. He can’t disappoint him. Peter will ask and hope Tony will understand that he won’t drink much, if at all. That he’ll be responsible and watch everything carefully. 

Tony knows Peter wouldn’t do anything too stupid, right? 

The last bell rings loudly in his English class. All of his classmates race out the door in a hurry, followed by the teacher. It’s a Monday, so honestly Peter doesn’t blame them at all. Who likes staying longer on what could arguably be the worst day of the week? 

Gathering up his things, he meets Ned out in the hallway. His best friend smiles, pulling on his arm. “Come on, Tony’ll be here to pick you up, yeah? We can go ahead and ask!” 

Peter smiles at his friend. “Yeah, alright. Slow down Ned, you’re going to make us fall if you keep knocking into people!” 

Ned only laughs as they race through the halls, ignoring the disgruntled shouting they leave in their wake. They burst through the front entrance, racing down the steps into the sun like the rest of the kids. 

Peter spots Tony’s barely-subtle black Audi parked near the front of the line and points it out to Ned. “That should be him.” Peter watches as Ned gathers all his courage and marches straight over to the Audi with him in tow. 

The window rolls down as they approach and Peter can make out Tony’s distinct sunglasses and beard before he speaks. “Hey Pete, hey Ted. What’s this about?” 

Ned gives Tony an unsure smile, but continues on nonetheless. “Mr. Stark, can Peter come to a party with me tonight? We won’t drink or anything, we just want to go hang out, sir.” 

Tony looks between Ned and him, making Peter a little nervous. 

His mentor/pseudo father-figure lips quirk up into a smirk. “Is that so?” Looking at Peter, Tony raises a brow. “No drinking, right Petey?” 

He nods. 

Tony scratches the side of his jaw with a weary sigh. “Alright, sure. No drinking, no staying the night with strange girls. No stupid stunts, and absolutely no drugs . Capiche?” 

Ned nods frantically. “Wouldn’t touch any in a million years, sir!” 

Tony waves his hand in a shooing motion, Ned backs up from the door. “As long as you hold that to your grave, Ted, I don’t mind. Will you guys need a ride there?”

Peter nods as he opens the door. “Great. It’s a date. I’ll come get you around…?” Looking at Peter, Tony raises a brow. “Uh, six, I think. Party starts around seven.”  

“I’ll see you at six, Ted.” Tony says with finality, letting Ned and Peter fist bump before closing up the window. 

“Didn’t know you were the party type, Kid.” Tony starts, eyes on the road as he pulls out from the school. Peter shrugs. “Ned wanted to go. The girl he’s got a crush on invited us and who am I to tell my best friend I can’t be his wing-man, right?”

Tony chuckles, “Only you, Pete. Only you.” 

The house they pull up to has cars parked all up and down the lawn, toilet paper already hanging in the trees. Some of the windows were open and music was blasting so loud they could hear it clear as day in the car.

Tony looks in the rearview mirror at the both of them. “Alright you two. No alcohol, no drugs, no girls, right?”

They both nod frantically, eyes wide and innocent. 

“Good. If the cops come, run. I’ll pick you up. I should not be condoning this, but you’re teenagers and you’d do it anyway.” Tony snorts. “God knows I did.” 

Waving a hand at the house, Tony smiles. “Go have fun, boys. I’ll come back around eleven.” 

Peter gives him a smile and lets Ned get out first. Tony stops him with a gentle hand on his shoulder, soft eyes looking at him. 

“Be careful, alright, Pete? Can’t have my kid end up hurt, can I?” Tony squeezes his shoulder. Peter gives him a broad smile. “You can count on me, Mr. Stark.” 

Patting his mentor’s hand, Peter makes his way out of the car and watches as it drives off with warmth blooming in his chest. 

Tony’s kid. He’s Tony’s kid!

Ned grabs his elbow and drags him into the house. “Hurry up, Pete! We’re going to be late!” 

Peter laughs, rushing after his friend. “You know that half of them are going to be drunk off their rocker. I doubt they’d notice.” 

His friend shrugs, opening up the front door with confidence. The music automatically becomes ten times louder as they walk in. Body order and alcohol filling his senses in an overwhelming mixture. 

Honestly the smell was nauseating. Peter wishes he stayed at home, but with one look at Ned’s face he knows he couldn’t do that to the friend that’s stuck by him all this time. It wouldn’t be fair. 

“I’m going to go find Betty, Pete!” Ned shouts over the music, eyes scanning the room. “I think I see MJ over there!” 

Peter looks over where Ned was pointing. He feels a little surprised at seeing their other friend there, MJ has never been a party animal in any capacity, but happy, nonetheless. At least he’d have someone to talk to while Ned goes to stumble over his words in front of his crush. 

“Alright, see you in a–” Peter startles, seeing that Ned has completely disappeared from his side. Typical. 

With a sigh, he makes his way over to MJ with a smile. “Hey MJ!” He yells out, shoving a few jocks out of the way to make it to her side. She looks at him with bemusement. “Parker. I’m surprised you’re not nerding out with Ned.” 

Peter smiles with a shrug. “Can’t nerd out when Ned is too busy with Betty running through his head. I swear he has a one-track mind for that girl.”

MJ quirks her lips slightly, but hides her smile quick enough. Peter still counts it as a win though. 

“Want something to drink?” MJ asks, eyes glancing over at the options again. “Mostly alcohol, though.”

Peter glances at the red solo cup in her hands and back at her face. “What are you drinking?”

“Apple Cider Vinegar mixed with a few other things in the bowl. They didn’t list the stuff in it, but it tastes pretty good. Said it had only a little alcohol, if that’s what you’re worried about.” MJ punctuates her sentence with a long sip of her drink. 

Licking his lips, Peter nods. “That doesn’t sound too bad, then.” Taking one of the cups from the corner of the table he fills it up with the same drink that MJ has. Putting the ladle back into the bowl, he steps out of the way for another girl to get drinks. His spidey-sense flares up, making him look around for a moment. He sees a girl bump into a table, spilling drinks that were on the edge. 

That must be it. Peter ignores it as it persists. 

Peter takes a few gulps as soon as he gets back over to MJ, wincing a bit at the burning feeling it leaves behind in his throat and mouth. Peter’s never had the stuff before, but it must be strong as shit to hurt that much. He ignores the little voice in the back of his head nagging that something isn’t right. 

MJ grins at his face. “Burns a little, but you’ll get used to it.” Peter nods dumbly, watching as more people start to flood in from the cold outside. The room is heating up as more people flood in. 

Peter takes another sip of the cold drink to try and cool himself down. 

Ned comes breaking through the crowd with a beaming smile, eyes alight with joy. Peter grins back at his friend. “Peter! You won’t believe it!!” 

Coming to a stop in front of him, Ned starts shaking his shoulders. “Betty asked me out! Dude, Betty Brant asked me, one of the biggest nerds in school, out. ” 

Peter laughs, elated for his friend. “Really? Holy shit, this is big, dude!” 

MJ raises a brow at their antics. “Congrats, loser.” 

Ned beams at her, looking at both his friends. “Oh, bet, what are you guys drinking?” Peter points to the bowl they both got their drinks out of, “Just that. Some type of apple cider stuff, basically.” 

His friend nods and grabs himself a cup, mixing it with a few other things on the table. “Cheers to my new relationship!” Ned shouts over the music. Peter knocks their cups together. “Cheers, Ned!” 

They both throw back their heads and down their drinks. The burn becomes nearly overwhelming, and it makes his stomach cramp, but Peter doesn’t say anything as he slams the cup down with a sense of pride. His first slightly alcoholic drink, done and finished. 

Tony’s probably gonna kill him.

Peter shakes his head, watching as Ned slams his drink down. “Let's go dance, Pete! They’re supposed to put on some songs by Queen soon and I know how much you love them.” Ned looks over at MJ, “You coming?”

MJ shakes her head. “Nah, I’ll watch you guys' stumble from here. It’ll be good entertainment.” 

The both of them look at each other, shrug, and wave to MJ as they make their way to the main room where everyone is dancing. A new song blasts on the speakers as Peter starts to dance –badly– with Ned. 

Only after a few minutes Peter starts sweating, and his stomach starts cramping violently. He feels a little sluggish and starts slowing down after two or so songs. Ned catches him before he tilts into someone else. 

“Hey– Pete, you good? You should go drink something, you’re burning up.” Ned says quickly, ushering him to the table. Grabbing two new cups, Ned pours them one of the drinks on the table, not really caring which one. “Here, drink this. It’ll help.” 

Peter ignores that nagging feeling in the back of his head and grabs at the cup clumsily, gulping down the contents in seconds. It burns like fucking hell, but it’s cold and it feels like a painful relief from the fire that seems to be licking its way through his body. He waves Ned off as he continues to worry, giving his friend a pained smile. “Don’t w’rry ‘bout me, man. Go have fun.” 

Ned looks doubtful but gives a small nod. “I-I’ll come back after a few songs, see how you’re doing then, ‘kay?” He nods in response and watches as Ned makes his way back to the other room.

A headache starts to pound behind his temples and Peter leans himself against the chill wall to try and center himself. Maybe he’s just a damn light weight, has to be, for him to feel like he’s getting pissed as shit from just a little bit of alcohol. 

Groaning to himself, Peter lets his head bang back on the wall. He barely notices as a guy comes over with two drinks in his hand, a preppy smile along his face. Peter doesn’t have the heart to tell him to piss the fuck off, because he might be in pain but he’s not a dick. 

“Peter, right? You don’t look too well. Want a drink?” The guy asks, eyes worried. Peter gives him a polite smile, albeit strained. 

“Ah, s-s’re. What ‘s it?” Peter slurs. His eyes cross a bit, making it hard to see the person in front of him. 

“Just some water, man. Come on, you should drink a little.” Peter takes the cup and looks at it. His spidey-sense sends a burst of pain down his spine at the thought of drinking it, but Peter ignores it. 

It’s just water. 

“Thanks, dude.” Peter tosses his head back, only managing half the drink before his spidey-sense kicks in with a new wave of pain. It makes his throat constrict and makes him start coughing immediately. 

He feels like vomiting. 

Everything starts to get more and more blurry. The guy in front of him is asking if he’s okay, if he needs something, but Peter can’t think. His entire being feels like it’s been lit on fire and it’s trying to eat him from the inside out. 

Hands he can’t see start tugging him away and Peter’s helpless against them. He can’t think as pain racks through his frame and his vision starts to black out. 

A bright light flicks on, clearing his mind for a second as he sees a toilet in view. 

He needs to vomit. Now.

The door closes, and he’s pretty sure it’s Ned with him in the bathroom until a bulky body pins him to the wall. Lips trail down his cheek to his neck, and Peter feels disgusting. His entire body tenses. It’s not Ned. Fuck- fuckfuckfuck.

Hands grab at his hips pulling him to a body he doesn’t recognize. A guy’s voice in his ear makes him want to curl up and hide or just run away all together but his limbs won’t cooperate.

Lips press against his and Peter can barely open his mouth wide enough to bite down on the intruding tongue. He hears a shout of pain as he kicks the guy in the shin. Despite feeling weak as could be, his strength saves him for once as it buys him enough time to throw open the door. 

He hears it crack the plaster on the wall, but he doesn’t think about it as hands grab at his belt and tug him back into the bathroom. They keep grabbing and pulling and pushing him back and Peter falls to the floor. 

Something bubbles up in his throat and he can barely turn over to vomit all over the floor. It burns and he can taste iron on his tongue. Red fills his vision as hands tug and grope at his pants, and he keeps shoving at the arms pinning him down until the weight on his body is tugged off completely. 

Shouting fills his ears as he quickly backs up, back slamming against the tub in the corner. He can see flying curly hair and gentle hands on his cheeks. Peter flinches back until MJ’s face swims into focus, mouth moving frantically. 

“-er. Peter! Hey, hey, it’s just me. Just look at me, okay Peter?” MJ blocks his vision of what's happening behind them, but not enough. Peter can see Ned beating the shit out of the guy that was holding him down, fists plumbing the fucking creep into the ground. He feels a bit of satisfaction and pride burn in his chest. He didn’t know Ned had it in him.

Peter looks back at MJ as she taps his cheek again, eyes trailing down his chin. “Fuck, Peter, where the hell did the blood come from? Are you hurt?” Her eyes focus on his sharply, “Shit- Peter, breathe .”

He didn’t even notice he wasn’t taking in air, but now that he tries it burns like fucking hell. He can’t breathe. He can’t breathe.

MJ shushes him and brushes hair out of his face. “Shit, okay, Peter. Follow my breathing, alright?” 

Peter can’t. He can’t breathe in. His throat burns so fucking bad and that bubbly feeling creeps back up again as his stomach cramps for a billionth time that night. Shoving MJ aside, Peter vomits again next to his jeans. It soaked into the dark blue, tainting it with vivid red blood.

Iron coats his tongue. There’s blood. Why is there blood? 

Peter feels lightheaded as MJ gently takes his shoulders and makes him lean back again. “Fuck- you’re vomiting blood.” Looking back over her shoulder, MJ shouts at Ned. Peter can’t really make it out much more as his lack of breathing catches up to him. He feels like he’s choking, drowning in his own blood. 

The pain builds up in his head until he can’t hold himself up anymore and passes out. 

I don’t like that when they threw me in the car

I gave your name as my emergency phone call

Air is being forced into his lunch when Peter wakes up again. Flashing blue and red lights fill his vision, the blaring sound of a siren ripping all the thoughts out of his head with the blinding pain they cause. Words are being spoken to him, by a young lady if he’s not mistaken, and it takes all his energy to pay attention. 

“-ou are. Is there anyone you want us to call? Your friends don’t have the number for your guardian.” The lady says, voice calm and steady. It was kind of reassuring. His throat burns as he gives out May’s number. She’s going to be so pissed about what happened. 

Though, Peter can’t really remember it much himself. He just knows May will be mad that he drank when he wasn’t supposed to. She was adamant that he didn’t before the party. That memory doesn’t feel right, but it’s May. May will come no matter if he fucked up or not. 

May loves him. 

The lady gives him a small smile, nodding along as an officer in mostly dark blues and blacks comes to Peter’s other side. A phone is resting against his ear as he’s talking to someone else. Peter can make out the forms of his friends by a few other officers in the distance. He has to look away when the blinking lights become too much. 

Honey it rang and rang 

Even the cops thought you were wrong for hanging up

A hand taps his arm and a man’s face appears in his vision. “Hey, son, the number you gave us isn’t picking up. Do you have anyone else to call?” 

Peter frowns at him confused, head feeling a little woozy. Is there anyone else he has to call? He doesn’t think so. May is the only one who he knows he can call when he gets hurt. Maybe Mrs. Bennefield who lives next door? She might come to the hospital to make sure he’s okay. 

But he shakes his head because he doesn’t remember her number. Peter feels like he’s missing someone, someone important. 

The sound of hurried footsteps reaches his ear as Ned pushes past a different officer, apologizing the whole way. Peter could make out the sound of the phone ringing before it’s brought up directly into his face. 

Ned looks at him worriedly, “Mr. Stark’s calling, Pete.” 

Peter feels the realization dawn on him. May’s not coming. 

May won’t come for him again. 

He feels tears well up in his eyes as Ned picks up the call and puts it close enough for Peter to hear correctly. The taste of iron builds up in his throat again and he feels like vomiting. The lady next to the bed-thing he’s laying on shoos everyone but Ned away. 

The bed gets picked up by a few men and he’s loaded into the back of the ambulance. Ned gets in on one of the built-in seats next to him. Tony’s voice finally reaches his ears. “Ted? What’s going on? Why is Peter’s watch going off? Why is he not picking up?” 

Peter feels like he’s going to choke as more air is forced into his lungs. He feels suffocated but like he’s breathing at the same time. He feels like he’s dying. 

“M’ster St’rk?” Peter calls, head slumping over in Ned’s direction. His friend moves some hair out of his face as MJ waves them both off. “I’ll meet you at the hospital, Ned.” 

The doors shut loudly before Ned can respond to MJ, the engine purrs to life and the car starts moving. The lady is gathering supplies on his other side, but he tries not to pay attention to them. 

“-ter? Peter? What’s happening, kid?” Tony calls frantically, sounding more worried than Peter’s ever heard him. “Don’ ‘now T’ny. Drank nothin’.”

I’ll dial drunk

Tony curses, changing tactics. “Ned, what’s happening? Why does Peter sound pissed as all hell?” 

Ned looks at his best friend, eyes scanning his best friend’s face. He can’t think of a moment where Peter could’ve gotten this sick, this plastered.

Fuck, never mind. 

“Uh– Peter wasn’t feeling so well, earlier. He felt a bit clammy, but he just said he wanted a break. I went back to dancing and came back only like two songs later because MJ came over and said she couldn’t find Peter anywhere. We went looking for him and–” Ned pauses, feeling the strong urge to vomit. “There was this guy that was holding Peter down in the bathroom and he was– he was-” 

Mr. Stark stops him mid sentence. “Fuck– he didn’t. The guy didn’t do anything, right? Ned, he didn’t do anything. Please tell me he didn’t.” 

Ned has never heard Mr. Stark sound so desperate in his life, even when the man begged on national television for his friend’s return, a charity, anything. 

He’s never heard a man sound so wrecked. 

“He-He didn’t. We caught the guy in time. MJ went over to Peter to help him and I, uh, beat the sh-crap out of the guy. I called 911 and got Peter an ambulance. He was throwing up blood everywhere and kept crying out in pain every time he was moved.” Ned could hear the sigh of relief coming from Mr. Stark and he felt a little bad for making him believe that Peter almost…

He nipped that budding thought quickly. Nothing happened. Ned didn’t let anything happen. 

“Good. Good.” Mr. Stark pulled in a shaky breath. “How is he doing? What’s happening? What hospital are you going to?” 

Ned looked up at the woman hooking Peter up to different things, her focus solely on his friend. He didn’t want to disturb her. 

“I-I don’t know which one we’re going to, b-but I’ll send you the location when we get there!” Looking at the monitor hooked up to Peter, he bites his lip. His vitals looked like total shit from his normal ones in the Spider-Man suit. 

Shit. 

“B-But he’s not looking too good, Mr. Stark.” 

Ned listens to the sound of cursing and air whipping on the other side. He just assumes Mr. Stark pulled out the Ironman suit to follow them. 

Ned doesn’t blame him.

“Put him back on the phone, please, Ned.” Mr. Stark says, voice sounding a little scratchy. Ned didn’t have the heart to point it out and leaned over to put the phone close to Peter’s face. His best friend looked high out of his mind and looked at the phone all confused as Mr. Stark talked to him. 

“Pete? Kid, hey, bambino, talk to me. How are you feeling?” Mr. Stark babbles, not sounding like he knows what to say in such a crucial moment. 

“D-Dad?” Peter calls weakly, eyes looking distinctly misty to him. Ned felt his own heart clench. Peter never called Mr. Stark dad before unless he was scared or overly excited about something. His friend kept it secret that he viewed his mentor that way.

Mr. Stark lets out something that sounds akin to a sob, “Hey buddy. I’m coming to you, alright? I’ll be there soon. Just hold on for me, will you?” 

Peter gives a soft smile, looking severely out of it. “‘ea dad, I-I c’n stay ‘wake.” 

Mr. Stark lets out a chuckle. “I know you can, Roo. You can make it, right? You’re only a minute or so away from the hospital. Hold on for me.” 

No sooner does Mr. Stark says that Peter starts convulsing. Ned launches back like he’s been burned as the paramedic scrambles to get something out of a box. He closes his eyes before he can watch his best friend seize more on the table. 

He wants to throw up. 

I’ll die a drunk

“Ned, what’s happening?!” Mr. Stark yells into the phone. Ned remembers that he has Peter’s watch vitals still up, most likely, and can see that something is wrong. 

“I-I don’t know. He’s seizing, I think.” Ned opens his eyes again, glancing at the monitor. It’s sporadic, beeping uncontrollably. It keeps speeding up until Ned hears the one thing he’s always dreaded.

A long, shrill, never-ending beep. 

Ned feels himself start hyperventilating as he feels the ambulance stop and watches the back door slam open. A swarm of nurses and doctors float in and load his friend off. He hears his phone click off, probably dead, as his breathing continues to get worse.

Peter’s dead. Petersdeadpetersdead–

One of the doctors is tapping on his knees, telling him to breathe in but he can’t because Peter’s dying and Ned’s not there to hold his hand– or tell him stories or make sure he’s okay. He’s a bad friend, he killed Peter. It’s his fault. All his fault, oh god-

A strong hand lands on his shoulder and voices murmuring in front of him but he can’t focus. Ned’s vision starts going foggy and he can barely feel his hands as he tries to suck in another breath.

Warm hands hold his, squeezing lightly. “Ned. Hey, kid, you in there?”

Mr. Stark’s voice is worried, horse, and sounds absolutely wrecked. But he’s there, in front of Ned trying to calm him down when Peter’s inside dying. 

He’s such a waste of time. 

“S-Sir, P-Peter’s..” Mr. Stark holds up his hand. “I know, Ned. But Peter’s with the doctors and you’re right here. He wouldn’t forgive me if I left you like this, okay?”

Ned nods trying to take in more air. Mr. Stark starts to count slowly, telling him when to breathe in and out in a steady rhythm until his brain defogs a little. A warm blanket is wrapped around his shoulders and Mr. Stark guides him out of the ambulance. 

“I called your parents. They should be here in a bit.” Mr. Stark looks at the entrance to the hospital, then back at him. “Lets get inside, alright, kid?” 

He nods slightly, trailing after Mr. Stark like a lost puppy. The lobby is still chilly, but significantly warmer than the winter air outside as he’s led to one of the stuffy old chairs in the corner. 

It feels like forever before the both of them are approached by a doctor, but when they are, its with good news. 

Peters okay. 

I’d die for you

Peter wakes up in a daze shifting around the room. The feeling of starched sheets welcomes him to consciousness again as he sleepily looks to the left where a nurse that looks oddly familiar stands writing a few notes down. 

When the woman turns, Peter feels a shock go down his spin. 

May. 

His Aunt stares at him for a moment, brows furrowed. There isn’t a hint of love that he’s used to in them, only a spark of familiarity and something else he doesn’t recognize in her eyes. 

Peter’s heart clenches as a lump forms in his burning throat. May licks her lips, eyes darting away. “A-Aunt May–” Peter calls out, trying to reach out for her, but she shifts back. 

May takes in a breath, staring at him for a moment longer before turning back to a chart he guesses she’s forced to finish.

His heart crumbles into dust. It burns which makes tears spring to his eyes as he stares at his last living relative, a woman he still loves and adores but doesn’t actually know , not anymore. 

Peter can remember the day he was lying in a hospital bed, with his Aunt desperately clutching his hand while he was healing from a gunshot wound that would’ve gotten her instead. That would’ve killed her instead .

He almost died for her. Peter took the bullet that would’ve killed her and left him an orphan two times over. He loved her so much he almost died for her. 

But as May walks back to the door of the hospital room, no word spoken to him, Peter realizes that his last relative has already died. Aunt May isn’t there anymore, just a stranger with the same name. 

Peter took a bullet for her. Almost died for her. 

He loved her, but she didn’t love him. Not in the same way.

The door closes behind her and Peter lets himself grieve. May’s gone, and he has to live with the fact it’s all his fault. 

Tony comes into his room less than an hour later. Eyebags dark, eyes red, lips bit to hell in back from worry. 

Peter feels a little guilty as his mentor rushes over, his hand being taken immediately. Peter doesn’t doubt if he wasn’t hooked up to a bunch of wires that Tony would’ve given him a hug, too.

Tony lifts a gentle hand and runs it down the side of his face, eyes softened with worry and relief as he feels Peter’s heartbeat through his wrist. “Hey, Roo” Peter gives him a soft smile, leaning into his hand. 

“Hi Dad.” It slurs only slightly, but it was much better than it was earlier. Peter doesn’t have it in him to be embarrassed. Tony’s his dad. He cares. He loves him.

His dad gives him a bright smile back, tears at the corner of his brown eyes. “God, I’m so glad you’re okay.”

Giving him a quick kiss on the forehead, Tony pulls back and scans his face for something that Peter doesn’t really understand. “You’re totally grounded, kid. You gave me a heart attack. No more parties, capiche?” 

Peter laughs weakly, lungs constricting painfully which makes it come out more as a wheeze than anything else. “I-I missed you too, Dad.” 

Tony sighs and runs a hand through Peter’s hair. “Get some sleep, Roo.” 

He nods, the wave of painkillers they have him on rushes through his system again. They won’t last long, but it's enough to make him feel groggy enough to sleep. “‘Night” 

Peter is almost completely asleep when he hears it. 

“I love you, Pete.” 

He goes to sleep with a smile on his face for the first time in weeks.