Chapter Text
Peter was pretty sure that some cosmic power was punishing him. Bad things happened to him too often for it to be a coincidence. The destruction of his and Aunt May’s apartment was simply the latest piece of evidence that the universe was conspiring against him.
Their place was collateral damage in Hammerhead’s throwdown with the Fantastic 4. The Maggia villain threw Human Torch through their kitchen window. Torch hit a gas line. BOOM.
Fortunately, the superhero stopped the fire from spreading too far. Even more fortunately, neither Peter nor May was home when it happened. Peter was working on his web slingers, and May was at bingo night with her friend Atticus.
They returned to an uninhabitable disaster. They needed to find somewhere else to live while the building underwent repairs. That was a big issue. Rent in the city was outrageous.
May and Ben had been living in the same apartment since before Peter was born. Their long-term residency and New York’s rent control policies were the only reasons Peter and May could afford to live there with only May’s social security checks and the payout from Uncle Ben’s life insurance.
After a lengthy debate, Peter convinced May to move into the retirement home where Atticus and some of her other friends from the senior center lived. May resisted because Peter wasn’t allowed to stay there with her, but he promised her that he’d be happy staying with Ned’s family and would stop by often.
The only problem was that Peter wasn’t actually staying with Ned’s family. He didn’t even ask Ned if he could. The Leeds family was going through their own troubles after Ned’s nana tripped and needed a hip replacement. She was staying with them so that Ned’s parents could care for her and drive her to all her appointments. The woman slept in Ned’s room. Every day at school, he updated Peter on how much she’d snored the previous night.
Meanwhile, MJ was participating in a year-long exchange program at a school in New Zealand. The photos she posted on Instagram were the envy of everyone at Midtown High.
Peter didn’t have anyone else he could stay with, and none of the shelters would take in a minor without asking a lot of questions. That was okay. He was Spider-Man, and Spider-Man could make it a few months on his own in NYC.
With his share of the meager compensation from their renter’s insurance, Peter bought himself a tent and a thermal sleeping bag. He’d always wanted to try camping. He found a tall building not too far from school.
He set up his tent and sleeping bag on the roof. He stashed some spare clothes and a towel at school. He planned to use the school bathrooms and showers after hours. It wasn’t a big deal. He was constantly sneaking into the chemistry lab anyway to make more web fluid.
Satisfied with his new home and his plan, Peter settled in for the night. He was proud of himself. Sure, life hadn’t exactly dealt him the best hand, but he was bearing that burden on his own. No need to concern May or his friends. Peter was going to get through this all by himself.
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The first two weeks of tent life weren’t treating Peter well. Today was going especially poorly. He woke up exhausted. It rained last night, and the sound of the raindrops on the outside of the tent kept him awake. In his grogginess, he forgot his notebook in the history room. Flash threw it in a giant mud puddle. His notes were ruined. It was only Monday.
Now, he was patrolling on an empty stomach because Ena canceled their tutoring session at the last minute, dashing Peter’s dream of being able to afford a warm dinner. Each week, May gave him a little cash, which he pretended to pass along to Mrs. Leeds. It was enough to pay for food if you cooked your own meals, but kitchen-less Peter was subsisting on pricier, ready-made stuff.
Between May’s money and his income from after-school tutoring, Peter managed. He just had to be stingy. Buying in bulk was critical. Ned let him tag along and use his family’s membership when they went to Costco. All of Peter's money was currently set aside so that he could buy a massive jar of peanut butter on the next trip. Until then, he was rationing the last of his dry cereal and pop tarts.
Peter tried not to think about food as he patrolled, steadily making his way south, swinging quietly from building to building looking for trouble. He found some in Manhattan’s Chinatown. He recognized the heavily armed men as they loaded into three unmarked white vans.
The goons were some of the best dressed criminals in NYC. They always wore classy black suits. Their elaborate Chinese masks identified them as Mr. Negative’s Inner Demons. The amount of weapons they were carrying told Peter they were trouble.
Peter followed them to one of the docks where the cargo ships were loaded and unloaded. He perched atop the nearest crane and watched. Six goons gathered around the door to one of the shipping containers. The heavy metal door swung open, revealing several dozen frightened victims, fodder for Mr. Negative’s human trafficking business.
Not if Peter had anything to do with it. He swung down and landed on a shipping container behind the men. At the sound, they all turned and trained their weapons on him.
“Hey guys!” he greeted them perkily. “I think you might be kind of overdressed.”
The man farthest from Peter, the only one wearing a red mask, barked an order in Mandarin, and the others attacked.
Even with the tall cranes and towering stacks of shipping containers to use to his advantage, the fight was tricky. The Demons fought with close-range weapons that Mr. Negative had infused with his unique, black electricity. That electricity burnt through Peter’s webbing without a problem. Not ideal.
His only option was to fight them up close and personal, but the Demons clearly had plenty of hand to hand experience. Furthermore, these guys simply wouldn’t stay down. Peter’s blows sent them flying, but they were always back on their feet in seconds.
Peter eventually managed to disarm and restrain all six men. Most were pinned to various surfaces with his webbing, but the one in the red mask, presumably the point man, had tried to make a run for it. Peter used the last of his webbing to tie the man’s legs together and pin his arms to his sides.
Peter was dragging the man back towards the other goons when suddenly, his spidey sense went haywire. Peter jumped to one side, bringing his captive with him. He moved just in time to avoid the bullet.
Peter looked for the shooter. He was standing ~30 yards away, spinning a pistol in his hand.
“Hiya, Spidey,” Deadpool greeted him with a cheeky wave.