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you would write the homeless peter parker trope so well if you ever fancy writing more peter and nat/the rest of the avengers! – anon
There are many benefits to being Spider-Man.
Aside from the obvious ones like being able to help people and do good on a scale he's pretty sure he could never operate at without superpowers, he's able to get in touch with the actual people of New York in a way not many other heroes get to. He has people he talks to, not just as Spider-Man, but as Peter Parker, the normal teenager, and that lets him get an insight into his city that he wouldn't trade for anything. How else is he gonna know that making sure there's an extra delivery of ingredients to the soup kitchen on the corner next to the bank is gonna stop all the convenience stores just to the south from getting hit in a massive raid, just 'cause there's a bug going around the apartments and the kids need medicine? How else is he gonna know that there's a blockade on the bridge which makes the delivery trucks a prime target for hijackers? How else is he gonna know that the main route to the hospital is blocked for construction, so he needs to reroute the ambulance so it can get there on time? He needs to have his feet on the ground and his eyes in the sky.
Another great thing about being Spider-Man is that he weighs a lot less. He's just less dense, that's it, which means that perches that would be precarious are suddenly perfect. He can stand on the edge of a railing for as long as he needs to, he can grab onto the extra thin tree branch and whip himself up out of the way. There's a grocery store where the roof creaks and groans under the weight of the workers who have to go up there for maintenance on the big sign, but he can walk on it with no problem. Even with a heavy backpack on, the metal barely makes a noise. It makes him ideal for surveillance on more dangerous missions, and it means he can snatch a break where people are less likely to sneak up on him.
This one might not be strictly Spider-Man related, but Peter's small. Means he can get into places most people wouldn't consider weak points because he's just that tiny. Sure, he's an average teenager when he's mixed in with a bunch of other students or just on the streets of New York, but by himself? He's getting into trouble that most other people wouldn't squeeze into. That grocery store actually has a small room up by the sign that's blocked off due to some debris that got left there during initial construction, but Peter can squeeze past it into a room that's…never had anyone else in it, as far as he can tell. Sure, it was difficult to get the dust out of there when he first got in, but now? Now it's great. He wriggles his way into vents and around tight corners and keeps doing his job.
Fast metabolism, that's another one. Now, this one might not necessarily be a benefit all the time. Sure, it means he can scarf down a meal and be ready to go in two seconds flat, which is great, but that does mean he has to eat a little more often. He goes through snacks like nobody's business. He knows all the cheapest vending machines and pit stops around the city by this point, practically has a map in the back of his head. Granted, is he relying a little too hard on the superhero discount for some of those? Yeah, and at least a quarter of them are only applicable when certain people are working, but still. He's not one to turn down free food. Great thing about being so close to a grocery store is that when they take the food out back, it's easy for some of that food to just…go a little missing.
He also gets cold really easily. This one isn't really a benefit most of the time. Granted, there are times where he has to sneak past Infrared scanners or something where it's a good thing he doesn't register as an active heat sig, but when the sun goes down and the wind decides to blow fast and cold, he has to be really careful he doesn't freeze overnight. The grocery store sells these cheap candles and clay pots, though, and he figured out a way to make a heater that will last him all night without costing any power, since he needs to save what little he can smuggle off the store's grid to keep his phone and laptop charged. Sometimes if he gets close enough to the ducts, they'll keep him warm too, but his healing factor isn't good enough to heal the burns that can happen if he accidentally sleeps up against them, so the candle and pots is safer.
Oh! That's the other great thing about being Spider-Man. When people see him, they assume he's doing what he's doing to help someone. And technically, he is. He's just…helping himself a little more right now.
But he loves helping people. That's the best thing about being Spider-Man.
Beep…beep…beep.
A low groan is coming from somewhere. Peter cracks his eyes open. His throat feels weird. Oh. It's him. He's the low groan. He should probably stop that.
"Here, Pete. Drink slow, okay?"
Who is that? What is happening? Where is he?
"Peter? Hey, look at me, just look at me." There's a face above him. He blinks. It's…Clint? "Yep, you got it, buddy. It's me, it's Clint. You just keep those eyes on me for a second, okay?"
"Wha—" a surge of pain cuts him off.
Clint winces. "Yeah, your throat's gonna need a sec before you can talk, kid. Here…I'm gonna sit you up a little bit and help you drink this, yeah? It's just hot water."
Another low rumble—it's not his throat this time, he swears—and then he's more upright. It doesn't feel like Clint really helped him with that, though, so he's not really sure what he meant by that. But then there's a hand behind his head and something steaming right under his nose and he sniffs—
A horrible gunky sound makes him wince and his body protests the slight movement like he's trying to run a marathon from a hospital bed. Wait. He is in a hospital bed. Why is he in a hospital bed?
"Slow down, champ," Clint says when he starts looking around, trying to figure out what's going on, "drink this, then we can talk."
The warm water is a mercy on his aching throat. He manages about half the cup with no problem before Clint's pulling it away, murmuring something about not making him any sicker than he already is. Peter opens his mouth to say that he's not sick, thank you very much, but all that comes out is a weak groan that sounds more pathetic to his ears than it does to Clint's, he's sure. Clint winces in sympathy.
"Yeah, it's…it's not great, Peter. You're not sick enough for there to be an army of doctors here, but it's…it's pretty bad."
He sits down in a chair, hands folded, just looking at him. If Peter had the ability to squirm out of the way, he might.
"Now, I don't know what your side of the story is, but I also know you just woke up and probably don't remember everything right now. Is that right?" Peter nods. "Cool. I'm gonna tell you what happened from my perspective, and then you'll tell me yours."
It's not a question. Peter's starting to get the sneaking suspicion that he might be in trouble here. Which is bad. Because if he's in trouble with Clint, then Natasha definitely knows about it, and if Natasha knows about it, then Mr. Stark probably knows about it, which means—
"Hey, calm down, okay?" There's a hand on his arm. It's warm. Cold? There's a hand on his arm. "It's okay, Pete, you're safe. Nothing's gonna happen to you, okay?"
He makes himself pay attention long enough to nod. Clint gives him a hard look for a few seconds, probably checking to see if he's lying, before he sighs and sits back.
"An old buddy of mine is a firefighter down at the station. I do volunteer shifts there sometimes, just to help the guys out. They've got a station mascot named Ox, a Dalmation, how perfect is that, right? So my buddy—his name is Ricky, by the way—they go on walks around the neighborhood, just, y'know, seeing what's what." He taps his fingers on the table. "Before my volunteer shift a few days ago, he gives me a call. Says that he might be a little late to our workout 'cause he found something. Well, no, he says Ox found something. In an alleyway, behind this big grocery store, says he found a kid lying there, passed out."
Peter's blood runs—well, it runs colder.
"Sick as all hell, he says, and they didn't know what to do so they brought him to the station. And I'm thinking: 'gee, that sucks. Maybe the parents were looking for the kid, maybe I can see if I recognize him.' 'Cause I'm over there enough that I sort of know everyone, y'know? So I get there, and I ask if I can take a look at this kid, just to see, and hey, what do you know: I do know this kid." Clint sits forward, his gaze hard. "You wanna tell me why you were passed out in an alleyway, Peter?"
You would think that for being Spider-Man, he would last longer in an interrogation. But this is Clint, and Peter is sick, and he's already in trouble.
"I—I didn't know I was sick," he starts, his voice still protesting with every word, "I was just trying to get to the top of the grocery store."
"Why?"
"There's…there's a small room up there. By the sign."
"Okay. What's so important about that room?"
He shuffles in the bed. It hurts. He twists his fingers together instead. "I, um…I've been using it as a…home base of sorts."
There's silence in the room for a little bit. Clint's smart. He's gonna figure out what it is that Peter's actually saying. Sure enough, a few seconds later, there's a rustle as Clint sits back.
"Why've you been living on top of a grocery store, Peter?"
"It's…um…" All of the great reasons he had? Gone. Nowhere to be found. Nonexistent. "…it's my only option."
Clint blows out a breath. "You know that's not true, kid. You could've come to any of us, at any time, you—oh, kid…"
Because now Peter's eyes are welling up with tears and he really shouldn't be making breathing any harder for himself than it already is, but he's crying now, and he doesn't want to be crying, because—because—because—
"Hey, hey," Clint murmurs, quickly sitting on the edge of the bed, reaching out to pull him into a hug, "it's okay, Peter. It's okay. That doesn't matter right now. What matters right now is that you're here, okay? You're here, we gotcha, we're gonna make sure you're back in fighting shape in no time. You're gonna be okay, we're gonna make sure of that."
"I'm sorry—"
"Hey, shh-shh, none of that right now. Just—just c'mere and be all gross all over me and lemme give you a hug, okay?"
"Don'—don' wanna—" Peter coughs. "Get you sick—"
Clint huffs, carding a hand through his hair. "I've got an immune system like you wouldn't believe, kid. Don't you be worrying about me."
And, well…Peter's no saint. Getting cuddles when he's sick? Turning that down? He'd have to be way stronger than he is, strong as…something really strong. Hulk. That's something really strong. The embrace is warm in the way all hugs should be and he's…he's not felt like this in a long time.
"They're—" he sniffles— "they're gonna be mad, aren't they?"
Clint's sigh ruffles his hair. "Yeah, they're not pleased, kid."
He can't decide if it's better or worse that all of them are right there when he gets off the elevator.
Then he's treated to Natasha Romanoff's angry face, Yelena Belova's upset face, Steve Rogers' disappointed face, and Tony Stark's Are-You-Fucking-Kidding-Me face, and he would like to be anywhere else right now, thank you.
But Clint's pushing him off the elevator and giving him a thumbs up as the doors close and he takes back everything nice he's ever said about Clint Barton.
He tries not to curl in on himself and fails miserably. He takes a deep breath and walks across the room, trying not to feel like he's walking to his execution and failing miserably at that too. He hangs his head and waits for the yelling to start.
"Oh, for fuck's sake," he hears Yelena mutter, "I'm not kicking a puppy."
He blinks and there's a super spy wrapped around him, her nose buried in his hair, her hands smoothing over his thin shirt and she's so warm he lets out a noise about it and promptly gets really embarrassed about that, trying to hide his face in the crook of her neck so he doesn't have to look at the others.
"You scared us, Baby Spider," Yelena murmurs, "do not scare us like that again. You should have told us you needed somewhere to stay, do you think we could have turned down having our Baby Spider with us?"
"Didn't—I didn't want to be a burden."
"And you collapsing 'cause you're sick in some alley somewhere, that's better?"
He flinches away from Mr. Stark's voice but Yelena is already turning, pointing an accusing finger at him. "Hey! He already feels like shit, do not make it worse! Can't you see he already regrets it?"
"Does he regret scaring us or not telling us? 'Cause one of those things is an easy fix and the other one's a pain in my ass."
He can't help it. He hides in Yelena's arms, mumbling and stammering an apology that isn't coherent at all and he's not sure if the sobs are helping his case or hindering it. He also can't see the glare Yelena is currently training on Mr. Stark so he's surprised when there's another set of arms wrapping around him.
"Oh, bambino," he hears as hands ruffle his hair and pet the space between his shoulders, "what am I gonna do with you, huh?"
"I'm sorry, Mr. Stark, 'm—'m sorry—"
"Shh-shh-shh, bambino, it's okay. 'S all gonna be okay now, yeah? You're gonna let me throw away this money I don't need on making sure you've got the most kick-ass room in the world and never scare me like that again, you got it?"
He sniffles, looking up, and Mr. Stark thumbs away a tear just in time for Steve to wrap an arm around his shoulders and do the same. He opens his mouth to apologize to Steve too when he just leans down and kisses his forehead like that's something they do now, which he guesses it might be, by how it takes him approximately three seconds to lean down and do it again.
"You and I are gonna order so much comfort food and eat all of it as soon as you're feeling better, okay?" he says in this soft voice that is gonna make Peter melt into a gooey puddle. He cups Peter's jaw in his warm hand and smiles. "You're one of us, Peter, you have to let us take care of you, okay?"
"Come on," he hears Yelena say, "you know you want to cuddle him too, just come over here."
Because he's not completely stupid, he's still a little scared when he turns to see Natasha glaring at him. But then Yelena leans down and whispers she's just pissed she didn't get to hug you first and Natasha rolls her eyes, immediately shoving Mr. Stark and Steve out of the way so she can pull Peter into her chest and hiss in his ear.
"You are my Baby Spider. That means you tell me when you need help, you got it?"
"Y-yeah, Mama Spider, I got it."
…okay, maybe this is also a benefit of being Spider-Man.