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"Peter, you're receiving a call from Mr. Stark."
"Ignore it," Peter half-shouted, punching a mugger in the face before throwing him against a brick wall to web him up.
It was nearly ten in the morning, and a splitting headache pulsed behind his eyes and rang in his ears. So when a lady ran up to thank him, tears running down her cheeks, he barely had the willpower to pat her shoulder reassuringly and muttering a quick "Just doin' my job, madame," before he was sticking his wrist in the air and swinging away.
"Peter, I really think you should call—"
"No," Peter said again, rolling his eyes under his mask.
It was Saturday.
Weekends were meant for rest, not 3 A.M patrols that bled into early-morning ones. Yet here he was, running on empty, head spinning and nearing his absolute limit.
But every time he turned to make his way home, there was another siren, another shout, another scream for anyone, someone, please!, and Peter would go running.
How could he not?
"Mr. Stark is calling again."
"Ignore it, Karen," Peter said again, rolling his eyes as he swang back toward his apartment, again.
Peter didn't have to talk to Mr. Stark to know what the man was calling about. He had gone out hours after his curfew, and no doubt the baby monitor had been snitching on him ever since he left. His head was still aching, and if his trembling fingers were anything to go off of, he was starving— he didn't need Mr. Stark chewing him out on top of that.
He knew he was a huge disappointment to the man. How could he not be? He never followed the rules, he barely made it to class half the time, and he accidentally skipped out on their last lab day when there was a pileup on the freeway.
Peter missed the man, sure. But it had been too long, and he was all too sure that the man didn't feel the same, anymore.
So if he was calling to chew him out, to tell Peter to forget it, forget him, give back the suit and never see him again…
Then, yeah. Peter would rather hold off on that conversation.
He caught another web, swinging himself through the frigid air, not even shivering thanks to the enhanced heater in his suit. Mr. Stark did so much for him, and Peter couldn't do a single thing like pick up the phone in return.
It's no doubt that the man hated him by now.
Peter could finally see his apartment, and he let out a sigh of relief. This was the closest he had gotten to rest in hours, and he could already feel the tension leaving his body, as he imagined himself sinking into his pillows—
"S-Spider-Man! Help!"
Ah. That was the hardest kind of call to ignore.
Peter looked down to see a little boy, who couldn't be older than six or seven, waving his hands in the air. With his enhanced senses, he could hear the boy's trembling breaths, and stuttering heartbeat. This wasn't just an excited fan— no, he was definitely crying.
He let his web extend, swinging down before he let go and landed in front of the boy, kneeling.
Up close, he seemed even smaller, chubby cheeks all red and lips pressed together, though his eyes seemed a little hopeful.
Peter's heart clenched as he heard the boy's heart beat a little faster, his own chest filling up with affection. Whenever people began calming down just at the sight of him, it made Peter feel so happy. So happy and grateful that his city had accepted him as a hero, and trusted him to protect them.
He took a deep breath of his own, before shaking the boy's trembling hand. "Hey, buddy. What's wrong? Where are your parents?"
This wasn't uncommon. Kids called on Spider-Man all the time, for everything from missing cats to flown-away balloons. Although it might be selfish, Peter was grateful that he had never had to deal with anything more… stressful.
More… death-y.
(Like a little Peter.)
The little boy took a deep breath, wiping his eyes before he started talking. "M-my mom, my mama, I don't know what happened!"
Peter's heart dropped to his stomach, all thoughts of rest and relaxation forgotten as his ears began to ring. Please, God, don't tell him that it's too late.
"What— what happened to your mom?" He asked quietly.
The little boy took another trembling breath as Peter sat, motionless. Waiting.
Mr. Stark would know what to do. Maybe he should call—
"She— she got lost!" The boy choked out, covering his face with his little hands. "I can't find her!"
Oh. Oh.
Peter sighed, deeply.
"I— I see, bud. Do— do you know her, um," Peter blinked, hard, trying to bring himself back to the present. "Her phone number?"
The little boy shook his head sadly, and Peter nodded.
"That's— that's okay," he whispered. "We'll find her. What's your name?"
"Ben."
"Oh hey, that's—" He stopped himself, blinking. "That's, ahem, a really nice name. What's your mom's name?"
"Jemmy."
"Um…" Peter turned away slightly, whispering to Karen. "Is that a real name?"
"There is a woman named Jennifer who is looking for her son, Ben, three blocks away."
"That was easy," Peter muttered, turning back to Ben. (Oh, God, Ben.) "Your mom is looking for you, I'm gonna give her a call, and we'll bring you right back. Okay?"
Ben smiled, a relieved, shaky smile that made Peter want to scoop him up into the tightest hug because it was Ben and he was lost and it made Peter feel so—
"Hello? Who is this?!"
Ah, right.
"Uh, um, hello, this is— uh, Spider-Man."
"What?! What happened to—"
"Ben is perfectly fine," Peter swallowed a lump in his throat. God, she was so— so worried, yeah, but why was he choking up? "He got lost, and he's with me. We're at, uh…"
Peter rattled off an intersection, looking around for any other hints. "There's a big department store right up—"
"Yes! Yes, that's where we were, I ran to look for him but I just— Oh, he must be so scared, I can't believe—"
"Don't— don't worry about it, ma'am," Peter said softly, blinking. "These things happen. And Ben is a very brave boy," he looked up at said boy, now, who was beaming up at him despite his red eyes and shaky lower lip.
"Okay, thank you so much, Spider-Man. I'll be right there to get him."
"Oh, I can bring him down to you, it's no—"
"No!" She shouted, definitely panicked. "Please, just don't move. I'll be right there."
Peter decided not to argue. "Okay, ma'am, that's not a problem. We'll just, uh…"
He looked around. The intersection was busy, with hundreds of people crossing left and right. Sure, he was Spider-Man, but how was he going to pick out a random lady from the crowd? Should he put Ben on his shoulders?
He turned to his right, and there was his answer.
"There's a café here, right across from the store. We'll wait inside."
Jemmy agreed, and Peter hung up before taking Ben's hand and herding him into the little café.
Peter's hands were shaking, and his body was sore all over, but the scent of fresh-baked goods washed over him like a warm hug, and he let himself close his eyes to enjoy it.
He hadn't considered it before walking in, but when his mouth started watering, he knew that Ben couldn't have been faring any better.
"Do you want a sweet treat, Ben?" He bent down slightly, still holding the little boy's hand.
Ben had calmed down some, now that he knew his mom was on her way, but he still held Peter's hand tightly as he nodded. "Yes, please."
They walked to the back of the short line. The café itself was pretty packed, but overall it was pretty quiet compared to the bustling streets of New York that had been screaming in Peter's ears for the better part of seven hours. It felt easier to relax, a little.
"Can I get— um, a cookie?" Ben asked, looking up at Peter with hopeful eyes.
If Peter ever broke that little heart, he was sure he'd break along with it.
"Of course, Benny." Where did that come from? "Chocolate?"
"Yes, please."
They made it to the register, and the cashier was a little giddy, making Peter blush under his mask.
"Hi there, can I get, um, a chocolate chip cookie… and…" Peter looked at the display briefly, "An apple strudel?"
"Yes, yeah, of course," the guy punched it in, waving it off when Peter raised his hand to pay. "No, no way am I taking money from you. Forget about it."
He quickly placed the pastries in brown paper bags and pushed them into Peter's hands. "H-have a nice day!"
"You too," Peter smiled, though his face was still masked, before he and Ben walked to one of the only empty tabled, having a seat.
Peter slid the cookie bag over to Ben, who smiled up at him. "Thank you!"
"No problem, little man."
He took his own strudel out of the bag, lifting his mask slightly and taking a bite.
The warm apple and pastry filled his mouth, and he chewed slowly to savour the comfort it brought him. God, he really was starving.
He was about to take another bite when his Spider-senses tingled ever so lightly, and he looked up to see tears running down Ben's face.
"H-hey, hey," Peter tried to soothe him, dropping his pastry and holding his hands out, which Ben took in his own tiny ones. "What's wrong, little man? Mama's on her way."
A little sob escaped Ben's throat as he cried, and Peter's heart clenched tightly.
"She—" he inhaled sharply, "She's gonna be so mad at me!"
Peter blinked, eyebrows furrowed. "Why would she be mad, Benny?"
"Because," he hiccuped again, "'Cause the rule was don't wander, and, and I tried not to, but I wandered away by accident and then she got lost! And I broke the rule and she's gonna be so, so, so mad at me!"
"Ben, I…" the words died in Peter's throat as sympathy grew in his chest. So many big emotions for such a tiny boy. A baby, really, especially compared to Peter.
He tugged on the boy's hand, making him look up.
"Come here," Peter said quietly.
Ben took the hint and stood, allowing Peter to guide him to sit across his lap. He rested his head on Peter's chest, and Peter had to stop himself from cooing as he wrapped his arms around the boy.
Once Ben had calmed his cries to sniffles, Peter began speaking softly.
"Listen, sweetheart," Huh, that must have come from Aunt May, "Your mom does not blame you at all, even if she says that she does. She's just so worried about you, because, 'c-cause," Oh, God,, "'Cause it's her job to keep you safe. And— and it can be so scary, 'cause you're just—" sniff, "Just a little boy, and y-you don't know what could happen. So— so even if she gets mad, or yells, it's just because— because she loves you so much, and it scares her so— so badly when you— when you're in— in danger."
Peter was— was full on crying at this point, tears flooding the lenses of his mask and stinging his eyes.
Ben looked up at him with a shaky smile, though, nodding. "Thank you, Spider—"
The café door slammed open, then, and both boys looked up to see a woman standing there, scanning the crowd.
"Mama!" Ben shouted, standing up and running over to the lady.
"Benjamin!" She half-shouts as she practically fell to her knees, wrapping her son in a hug so tight that Peter averted his eyes.
He instead made quick work of putting their pastries in their respective bags. Peter considered just shoving the rest of his strudel in his mouth, but decided against it. He wasn't feeling all that hungry anymore.
"I told you not to wander off!" Ben's mom scolded, making Peter look up. "I told you, because that's how you get lost, sweetheart. Wasn't it scary all by yourself?"
Ben nodded, and Peter's heart clenched, again.
"So please, listen to mama. I know you wander by accident, but— but I make the rules so that you're safe."
Peter stopped listening.
God, he really had to make a phone call.
Ben's mom looked up at him, then, and stood, shaking Peter's hand profusely.
"Thank you," she sighed, and Peter could practically feel the relief radiating through her hand. "Thank you for finding him, and keeping him safe. I couldn't have asked for a better person to find him."
Peter blushed under his mask, nodding with a cough. "Anytime, ma'am."
He bent down, then, and accepted the crushing hug that Ben caught him in, little arms wrapping around his neck.
"Thank you, Spider-Man," the boy whispered shyly.
Peter hugged him back just as tightly, his own arms trembling as he inhaled shakily. "A-anytime, Benny. Don't forget what we talked about, okay?" He whispered, holding the boy, Ben, close, so close, and holding his hands when he pulled away. "You need anything, you give me a call, okay? Your mama has my number now."
He didn't usually do that. In fact, he never did that, always allowing Karen to erase the number from the call log. But this one time… he just couldn't help himself.
"Okay," Ben nodding, smiling as Peter pushed his cookie bag into his hands.
"Be good, okay?" Peter stood up, patting Ben on the head, who nodded. "And don't wander off anymore."
"I promise!"
"Good."
Peter patted Ben's head one last time and shook his mom's hand before scurrying out of the café.
As soon as he hit the outside air, his whole body began shaking, a combination of the adrenaline and the low-sugar and the guilt,, oh God, the guilt.
Quickly, before all the strength left his limbs, he shot out a web and swung himself into the air, the cold air making him shiver only slightly as his heater kicked into high gear.
He had to call—
"Peter, Mr. Stark is calling you again. Would you like me to—"
"Pick up!" Peter shouted, landing on a rooftop, immediately collapsing to sit against the ledge. "Pick up, pick up, pick—"
"Peter, kid, you—"
"I'm sorry!" He half-shouted, before dissolving into a fit of sobs, covering his masked face with his hands. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry, oh God, Mr. Stark, I'm so sorry, I just—"
"Hey, hey," Mr. Stark's voice is soothing, and gentle, and it makes Peter hate himself so much more.
"N-no, I—"
"I saw everything that happened with that little boy, Peter," the man said quietly, and Peter's breath hitched.
"No, Mr. Stark, I didn't—"
"No. You did well, kid. You made him feel safe and loved, and I'm— I'm so proud of you."
Peter cried, but he was smiling, and he was blushing so hard, and he was kind of a mess but also Mr. Stark was proud of him, and he wasn't really crying anymore.
"Petey," the man's voice was so soothing. "Listen. You're exhausted. Like, Rip Van Winkle level. And I know you don't like hearing that, and I don't wanna make you—"
"No, no, you're right," Peter said softly, his chest warm. "I'm gonna go straight home and go right to bed."
"...Oh." The man sounded surprised, and really, Peter couldn't blame him. "Okay. Yeah, that's good. You go beddy-bye, and when you wake up, uh… maybe swing by the tower?"
Awww…
"Of course, Mr. Stark. I'll be there."
"Okay, sounds good, Petey. Sleep well, okay?"
"Thanks, Mr. Stark."
"No problem, kid. I'll see you later."
"Wait," Peter stopped him, biting his lip.
There was a beat. "Yes?"
"I-I'm sorry, Mr. Stark. About before. I didn't—"
"Don't worry about it, Peter," the man cut him off, though his voice was gentle. "I understand it. I understandyou. Hell, I was you back when I was a teenager. But as long as… as long as you're starting to get it, you know… get this whole thing, then yeah, don't worry. I forgive you."
Peter sniffled, but a smile was playing at his lips. "Thank you."
"Don't worry about it. Now go to sleep, before I fly down there and give you an experimental amount of melatonin."
"Hey, that doesn't sound half-bad."
"What— no, you druggie. I'm not bringing you anything anymore."
Peter chuckled, a tired thing. "Come on, really?"
"Goodbye, Mr. Parker."
The line clicked off, and Peter stared up at the blue, October sky, sighing before he replied belatedly.
"Goodbye, Jemmy."