Chapter Text
“No!” Peter shouted. His face contorted into one of pure anguish as his hands flew to his face. He squeezed the curls falling over his forehead, giving them a strong tug before raking the tips of his fingers down his cheeks. “You don’t understand!”
“I do understand.” The social worker looked at him with an amount of sadness that Peter couldn’t stomach. He abruptly turned his gaze to his lap.
“I understand that you're struggling right now. But you can’t stay here, Peter. You can’t stay here and you can’t go home alone. I’m giving you a choice-”
“No! No, you’re not!” Despite his distress, Peter knew he was being rude. He could practically hear his Aunt May chastising him about his lack of manners. But she wasn’t there to correct him. She was gone. The doctor had told him, in no uncertain terms, that she was gone. She would never be there again. His chest tightened and his breath hitched at the vehemently unwanted reminder.
“Peter. Listen to me.” The social worker grabbed his hands. He instantly jerked them away, causing her to sigh. “We can arrange for you to stay with someone you know. Or I can find you an emergency foster care placement. Those are your options right now. Do you have someone you can call?”
Immediately, Mr. Stark crossed Peter's mind. The problem was his phone had been left behind in his haste to get into the ambulance with May. Frustration had his eyes watering all over again. “I don’t have my phone. I can’t- I don’t know his number.”
The social worker’s eyebrows rose. She pulled out a tablet and readied a stylus. “Do you have a name and address? Perhaps I can look it up?”
Peter's throat burned. Fresh hot tears still streamed down his cheeks and past his chin. “Mr. Stark. I could- I should call him. But his number- It's in my phone. You won’t be able to find it. He gave it to me.” He’d never felt so helpless in all his life. He looked up through his damp eyelashes and brought this lip between his teeth. “I could just go there. To the tower. I do it all the time.”
“Peter,” The social worker said softly. He followed her gaze to the other two adults in the room. A child advocate and the hospital employee who had been tasked with keeping him there until Family Services had arrived. He didn't even know why she was sitting in the room. He squeezed his eyes closed, determined not to make eye contact with any of them.
“I know this is difficult, but making things up isn’t going to help the situation get any better. Who can you call? This is your last chance before I have to start making plans for you.”
A flash of anger sparked and ignited in an instant. He wanted to argue that he wasn’t lying. He wasn’t so messed up and delusional that he wasn’t making up connections that didn’t exist. He wasn’t trying to get away. He just wanted to go home; to his second home where he could lay down in his own room with Mr. Stark just across the hall. But without his phone, he had no way of proving his case. He choked on an unexpected sob as he mentally ran through his other options. There was really only one. “Ned. My best friend. I could call him.”
The social worker beamed. She outstretched her hand to place it on Peter’s shoulder but drew it back before making contact. “That’s great, Peter. You give him a call, and if things are agreeable with his parents or guardians, we’ll drive over to talk to them. Okay?”
Peter placed his hand on the receiver of the hospital phone. As much as he wanted to go straight to the Tower, the Leeds’ were his next best choice. He wouldn’t have his own space, but he knew them, and they cared about him. He could stay there until he figured out a way to get in touch with Mr. Stark. “Yeah. Yeah, okay,” he agreed, then dialed Ned’s number.
By the time they arrived at the Leeds’ tiny Queen’s apartment Peter was all cried out. His body was tingling with anxiety, and the deep, mournful hole in his chest felt like it might consume him. Outside of that, he was completely numb and exhausted to the bone.
The social worker didn’t have to knock. Mr. and Mrs. Leeds had been waiting by the door for their arrival. They all stepped inside. The adults spoke quietly while Peter leaned heavily against the wall. He looked around, but Ned was nowhere to be seen. He assumed he was asleep, or his parents had told him to wait in his room until the logistics were worked out. He released a quivering breath. His eyes stung, dry from all the excessive crying.
He reached up to run them when he was suddenly engulfed in a bone-crushing hug. He allowed Mrs. Leeds to hold him close but didn’t reciprocate. He just stood there like a ragdoll as she swayed him side to side.
“Peter, anak. I'm so sorry for your loss.” She touched her cheek to his, then held him at arm’s length. She looked him over, her forehead creased with concern. A few beats passed. “Have you eaten? Are you hungry?” When Peter shook his head, she squeezed his hands and used her chin to point down the hall. “Ned is in his room waiting for you. It’s late. We already have the air mattress set up for you.”
He pulled away slowly, a half-hearted smile crossing his lips. He knew the temporary bed took up the majority of the floor space in Ned’s bedroom. The sheet never stayed on, and it squeaked every time he rolled over. He knew because he’d slept on it countless times. But never under such painful circumstances. He could feel his throat tighten, but he didn’t cry. He wondered if he’d finally hit the limit for the amount of tears he could generate in one day. “Thanks.”
As he turned, Mrs. Leeds hesitated. She caught him by the shoulder and tilted her head to the side. “If you need to stay up and talk, we can do that.”
Peter did not want to talk. He’d talked to the paramedics after May collapsed. He’d talked to the nurse at the hospital. He’d talked to the doctor, the advocate and the social worker. There was nothing left to talk about. And even if there was, he didn’t want to. He shook his head and made an excuse. “I’m tired.”
“Then you should sleep,” Mrs. Leeds said gently. “I'll be here when you wake up.”
Peter nodded again and walked into Ned’s room. As he pushed through, the door brushed past the air mattress. He looked to the side to find his best friend lying diagonally across the bed on his stomach.
“Peter, I’m-”
“I just want to go to sleep, okay?” Peter cut in. If one more person offered him their condolences, he was going to lose his mind. He dropped down onto the mattress without bothering to remove his jeans “I can’t- I’m tired. I’m really tired.”
He buried his face in the pillow. A few seconds later, he heard Ned sigh. “Yeah, sure. I mean- yeah, okay. G’night.”
Peter hadn’t been lying when he said he was tired. He was, both physically and mentally exhausted. Yet he couldn’t sleep. Instead, he lay as still as possible while afternoon events played in his head on repeat. Walking into the apartment after school to find May on the floor, watching paramedics start CPR, and the frenzied ride to hospital. The sound of the doctor's voice when he came into the waiting room to talk to him penetrated his brain. ‘I’m sorry, son. There was nothing else we could do.’ He’d asked a million questions but hadn't gotten any answers until the advocate had arrived to represent him. Sudden cardiac arrest.
The tears he thought he was no longer capable of producing soaked into the pillow. He shifted to find a new position. The mattress whined with the movement. He hoped it didn’t alert Ned that he was still awake. He held his breath to stop the urge to cry and listened closely. His friend's breathing was slow and steady, indicating that he was undoubtedly asleep. He didn’t hear Mr. or Mrs. Leeds moving about either. He assumed they were asleep as well.
There was an odd amount of relief that came with the semblance of solitude. He abruptly realized he hadn’t been alone for the entirety of the day. Even when he was allowed to go into the room to see May, a nurse and a hospital representative followed him. He released a shaky breath and gently rolled onto his back to stare at the ceiling. He loved Ned. He loved Mrs. Leeds, and he was super comfortable being in their small apartment. But he wanted Mr. Stark. Subconsciously, he reached for his phone. When his hand came up empty, he broke into yet another round of quiet sobs.
Eventually, he fell asleep. Although it didn’t seem to last for long. When he awoke the sky was just barely starting to take on an edge of light. Ned was still sound asleep but he could hear noise coming from the kitchen. He took that as a sign that it wouldn’t be completely outrageous for him to be up and about.
He meandered down the short hallway, dragging his fingers along the wall. When he turned the corner into the kitchen, he could see Ned’s mom holding a spatula by the stove. Quietly, he announced his presence, raising a hand and whispering, “Hey.”
Mrs. Leeds turned around, smiled, and gestured to the table. ‘Morning, Peter. I made rice and eggs. If you give me a minute, I can slice a few tomatoes to go with it.”
Peter nodded his head and forced a smile. His body was so filled with grief and anxiety that he wasn’t sure he’d ever be able to eat again. “Thanks, Mrs. Leeds, but I’m not really hungry.” To avoid any looks of disappointment, he dropped his gaze to the floor. He shifted on his feet and chewed the inside of his cheek. “Can I take a shower?”
“Of course, Peter. Take a shower.” She plopped some eggs on a serving dish and looked over her shoulders. “But you’re not going to school today, okay?” she said, as if Peter might actually try to attend. “Your social worker will be coming by to take you to your apartment to pack some things.”
A flood of ice water washed through Peter’s veins. He knew he wouldn’t be allowed to stay at Leeds' home for long. They didn’t have the income or the space to really accommodate him. However, he’d imagined himself staying there until he could talk to Mr. Stark. That way, he could go from one familiar placement to another without any actual foster homes in between. “Do I- Do I have to leave today?”
Mrs. Leeds abandoned her previous task in favor of joining him at the kitchen's wide entrance. She rested her hands on his cheeks and pressed her forehead to his. “I told her you were welcome to stay for as many nights as needed.” She pulled back, looking forlorn and apologetic. “I wish we could keep you here forever. I don’t think-”
Peter shook his head and took a half step backward. “It’s okay, Mrs. Leeds. I understand.” tears pricked his eyes as he spoke. He roughly wiped them away, annoyed that he couldn’t make a full hour into the day without crying again. He gathered a breath in an attempt to smother down melancholy and gave her a reassuring smile. “I think- I think I know where I can go. You don’t have to worry about me.”
“I will always worry about you, anak,” Mrs. Leeds replied. Then she nudged him into the hall. “Go. Shower. I’ll make sure to save you some breakfast.”
As Peter stepped under the spray of the shower, relaxed into the warmth and complete privacy. He leaned his head against the sage green tiles and gathered a deep breath. “May?” he whispered, mostly to himself. “I’m so sorry, May. I should have-” Should have what? God, he didn’t know. He should have been there? He should have come home from school earlier? He was convinced there was something he should have done. But he couldn’t figure it out and it was frustrating. He balled his fists up until they hurt and gritted his teeth. He’d been absolutely useless. And worse? He hadn’t even gotten to say good-bye. “Fuck!”
Tears broke free, sliding down his cheeks one after the other. He held his breath and leaned into the steamy spray to wash them away. When he could no longer fight his body’s demands to breathe, he gasped for air, sinking to the floor and burying his face in his knees.
He sat there for a while, water pelting against the back of his head and running down his nose. He thought about his parents, Ben and May; how they were all gone and he was alone. A combination of grief, anger, and dread swelled in his gut and seized his chest. He loved the Leeds family. He felt welcome, safe and cared for with them. But at the moment, the only person he really wanted was Mr. Stark. Mr. Stark would know what to do.
A knock at the door could be heard over the shower’s spray. “Peter?”
Peter’s head shot up, realizing he must have lost track of time. “Yeah?”
“You've been in there a while.” She sighed audibly. Peter could hear it even through the door. “I just wanted to check on you.”
Peter bit his lip. The social expectation would be for him to reply with a simple, ‘I’m good’ or ‘I’m okay.’ However, he was neither one of those things. He was a mess, a disaster, an emotional volcano ready to erupt. He slowed his breathing and pinched the bridge of his nose. He had to say something. “I’m-” He stood up and turned off the faucets. “Sorry. I'm getting out.”
He lingered for a moment after she left, staring at the floor as if it might tell him what to do next. His limbs felt heavy and slow, like moving through water. Eventually, he forced himself to his feet, tugging on the same jeans from the day before. His hoodie was damp from earlier, so he grabbed a t-shirt and fresh socks from his friend’s dresser. The shirt hung loose, the sleeves nearly swallowing his arms. He crossed them tightly over his chest, trying to feel smaller.
By the time he shuffled into the kitchen, the apartment felt quieter. He must’ve been in the shower longer than he thought. Mrs. Leeds stood by the stove, focused on whatever she was cooking. No one else was around. Peter didn’t bother checking the clock. It didn’t matter.
He slid into a chair at the dining table, hands folded in lap.
“There you are.” Mrs. Leeds set a steaming bowl of rice and freshly cooked eggs in front of him. “Warm food to nourish your body and your spirit.”
Peter smiled politely and accepted the spoon being held out to him. He dipped it into the food and slowly brought it up to his mouth. Mrs. Leeds was a good cook. The rice was the correct texture and the egg was just the right amount of runny. He was sure it was perfectly seasoned as well. Yet, it had no flavor on his tongue. HIs stomach was in knots and the back of his throat was still burning with withheld emotion. He only managed to eat half the portion. When he shook his head and slid the bowl away, Mrs. Leeds didn’t push him. She simply removed the dish, briefly pressing her cheek to the top of his head in the process.
“Your social worker should be here soon.”
It was a new social worker who arrived at the door, introducing herself as Ms. Mosley. She was a lot younger than the one who had picked him up from the hospital, but carried the same air of controlled confidence. After a brief greeting, she pulled Mrs. Leeds aside, engaging her in a hushed conversation. Peter kept his eyes on the floor, trying not to listen, but stray words inevitably reached him. Much of it echoed what had been said the previous night–his placement in the Leeds’ home remained unquestionably temporary.
Eventually, Ms. Mosley turned her attention to him. “I know this feels abrupt and overwhelming, but we need to head to your apartment and gather your belongings.”
Peter shifted his weight, his fingers twitching at his sides. “How much am I allowed to keep?” His voice was quieter than he intended.
Her expression softened with sympathy as she exhaled. “I wish I could say everything, but that’s just not possible. You can only carry so much, and most of it should be clothing.”
His throat tightened, and he pressed his lips together, staring at a loose thread on his sleeve. He could already picture the shelves in his room, full of things he wasn’t ready to leave behind. How was he supposed to choose?
Ms. Mosley hesitated before adding gently, “Anything of value will be held for you until you exit the system.”
Peter gave a stiff nod, jaw clenched. He supposed that was better than nothing.
No words were exchanged during the short ride to the apartment. Ms. Mosley navigated her clunky, four-door sedan through the crowded New York City streets while Peter sat in the back, staring out the window. He could see his building coming up in the distance. A complex mix of anguish and uncertainty swirled in his gut. His shoulders tensed, and his jaw tightened as the car came to a stop at the back of the building.
The elevator wasn’t working. It never was, thus offering Peter seven flights of stairs to think about what he wanted to pack. He needed his school bag and the laptop Mr. Stark had given him. Clothes were a given and he wanted to grab at least a few pictures from around the apartment. Although, more than anything, he desperately wanted to get his hands on his phone.
The moment they entered the apartment, Peter set to work, looking for the elusive device. He scoured his backpack, inspected the kitchen table, and even checked the bathroom counter. Each search yielded nothing. Frustration mounting, he turned to the social worker. “Can you call it?”
Ms. Mosley obliged, but the effort proved futile. Wherever the device lay, it was dormant, the battery long dead.
Peter grunted with frustration and hurried into his bedroom, Ms. Mosley trailing behind. Ignoring her presence, he plunged his hands beneath the bed, yanked at tangled sheets, and rifled through the blankets with increasing urgency.
“We don’t have much time here,” she reminded him gently. “I need you to focus on packing—clothes, essentials, a few personal items.”
“But I need my phone numbers!” His hands flew to his hair, tugging at it until his scalp protested. “ I have to call someone.”
A flicker of concern crossed Ms. Mosley’s face. “Most kids in foster care don’t have a personal phone, at least not with active service. If there’s someone you need to reach, I can facilitate that. Just tell me who you–”
“No, you don’t get it! Only I— I just—” His pulse quickened. “Give me five more minutes. Please?”
“Five minutes.” Ms. Mosley signed, glancing at her watch. “Then you pack. If you don’t, I’ll have to do it for you, and neither of us wants that.”
With renewed desperation, Peter upended couch cushions and crawled along the edge of the furniture, scouring every conceivable hiding place. Nothing. A sudden thought struck– he could use the Spider-Suit to contact Mr. Stark. Except the suit wasn’t here. It was in the lab where Mr. Stark was repairing a tear and reinforcing the material with a specialized Kevlar blend. Pickup had been scheduled for Wednesday, his next lab day. He swallowed hard. At the moment, he wasn’t even sure he’d be allowed to go.
He shook his head, refocusing himself on the task at hand. The phone had to be somewhere. He yanked open a kitchen drawer, rummaging through its contents with reckless force. The phone wouldn’t be there– he knew that– but logic had long since ceded ground to sheer desperation.
“It’s time to pack, Peter.” Ms. Mosley’s voice, calm but firm, cut through his spiraling thoughts. “I know this is overwhelming, but we have to focus on getting your things together.”
Peter hesitated, then forced himself to move. The hall closet yielded Uncle Ben’s old leather suitcase. He pulled it down and ran his hand over its worn brown exterior before dragging it down the hall. He flung open his dresser and began piling clothes inside. His hands moved on autopilot, but his mind remained fixated on the missing phone.
It could be anywhere. The sheer number of times he had lost or shattered his phone was, frankly, embarrassing. The way Aunt May continued replacing them was a small miracle. He dreaded telling her that–
The thought broke off, severed by an aching emptiness. A painful lump lodged in his throat, rendering him unable to think any further. He stumbled to his bed and sat at the edge, burying his face in his hands. May was gone, he couldn’t stay with the Leeds’ forever and he had no way to reach out to Mr. Stark. “What am I supposed to do?” he whispered to himself. “How am I supposed to– how can I– Oh, God…”
Packing didn’t matter anymore. His hands had frozen at his sides, lungs locking up so tight it felt like his ribs were caving inward, crushing everything inside. His chest ached, a hollow, gaping wound cracked open at the sternum– deep, endless, impossible to fill.
“Peter? Are you about ready?”
“No!” His own voice hit the air sharp and jagged. “I can’t leave! I can’t– I can’t breathe!”
Ms. Mosley moved toward him, hand lifting like she meant to offer comfort. Her touch would be nothing but kind– Peter knew that– but the sight of her outstretched hand sent something sharp and defensive tearing through his panic. He recoiled, shoving himself backward before she could make contact.
“Don’t touch me!”
She didn’t flinch. Didn’t frown. Didn’t even step back. Her voice stayed even, calm. “Okay. No touching. I need you to take a few breaths, though. What can I do to help?”
Peter’s throat burned with the words he couldn’t say. ‘ Take me to Stark Tower. Take me to Mr. Stark. He’ll know what to do. He’l hold me until it doesn't hurt so much.’ He held his tongue. There was no way to explain the request without sounding completely crazy.
His hands curled into fists. “You can’t do anything! I just– Please!”
A second later, something soft and familiar settled over his shoulders. His fingers found the hem automatically, twisting into the microplush fabric, dragging it up to his face. The Star Wars blanket from the foot of his bed. The one May and Ben had gotten him after his parents– after his parents died.
Ms. Mosley was saying something, but her words turned to fluff inside his ears. The blanket smelled like home– like safety. He pulled it more tightly around himself, pretending, if only for a moment, that May and Ben were holding him. His breaths slowed. His eyes burned, heavy-lidded with exhaustion.
“Can I touch you now?” Ms. Mosley quietly inquired.
Peter’s mouth pressed into a tight, thin line. Normally, he craved physical contact. He leaned into hugs and sought casual touches without thinking. But at the moment, the thought of being touched made his skin prickle. Maybe because the only people he wanted were the ones who couldn't be there.
He thought of May. She would’ve pulled him in without asking, smoothing his hair, rubbing circles between his shoulder blades. Ben would’ve squeezed his shoulder, firm and grounding. And Mr. Stark– he wouldn’t push, but he’d be there– close enough to lean into whenever he was ready.
Even with Ms. Mosley right there beside him. He felt completely and utterly alone.
His breath hitched. He pulled the blanket tighter and swayed his head. “Don’t.”
“Okay.” Ms. Mosley sighed. She looked around the room and took a step back towards the door. “I hate to rush you, Peter. I don’t want to rush you, but we really need to get wrapped up here.”
Peter nodded, feeling numb as he dragged himself over to his desk. He picked up his laptop on autopilot, then grabbed a couple of old action figures and a LEGO Palatine. Once those had been shoved into the crevices of his bag, he moved down the hall to May’s room.
Hesitantly, he paused outside the closed bedroom door. He’d been in there millions of times, but never without permission. He lifted his hand, his stomach clenching as he tapped his knuckles against the frame before entering.
The air inside smelled like May– her lotion, her perfume, and the incense she liked to burn while reading in bed. His knees tried to buckle, but he pushed through, swallowing hard and stepped forward.
At the back of the closet, a handful of Ben’s old flannels hung in a neat row. He grabbed one, the fabric rough and familiar beneath his fingers, then reached for May’s favorite sweater draped over her chair.
The photo album on the dresser caught his eye, and his breath hitched. His fingers trembled as he picked it up, guilt curling tight in his chest. It was hers. Not his. But she wasn’t here to keep it anymore.
Peter zipped up the suitcase, the sharp hiss echoing in the quiet room. His eyes flickered over the remainder of his belongings. He’d grabbed everything that felt worth taking, but that didn’t make leaving things behind any easier. He gathered a breath, assuring himself he had everything that mattered.
At the last second, his eyes fell on the blanket lumped at the edge of his bed. He’d never been overly attached to it, but the sentimental value was undeniable. It wasn’t about his parents. It wasn’t about Ben or May either. It was about all of them, and suddenly, he couldn’t imagine leaving it behind. His hand shot out before he could stop it, rolling it up and tucking it under his arm.
With a heavy heart, he met Ms. Mosley in the living room.
“Is that everything? Are you ready?”
Silently, Peter nodded his head. Although the agreement was nothing short of a bold-faced lie. He wasn’t ready. He would never be ready.
Ms. Mosley gave her tablet once last glance, then exited into the quiet hallway.