Chapter Text
Everyone knows Spider-Man. He’s the down-to-earth, friendly neighborhood hero who protects the people of New York City— the man in the red and blue suit who effortlessly swings from building-to-building using his webshooters. Everyone knows that they can rely on Spider-Man to look out for them and save the day.
No one knew Peter. No one knew of the seventeen-year-old kid who attended Midtown High School. No one knew of the kid with a deep passion for innovative technology. No one knew of the unofficial apprentice to Tony Stark, the best friend to Ned Leeds, the boyfriend to MJ, the nephew to May. But everyone knows Spider-Man.
Peter laid on his back staring at the ceiling, contemplating this newfound revelation. The alarm clock on the nightstand beside his bed read “7:43 am” in blinking, bright red numbers. He had woken up seventeen minutes before the alarm went off due to a recurring dream.
Christmas music rang throughout May’s apartment. The smell of turkey, ham, gravy, and May’s signature green pea casserole filled the air. The mounted TV on the living room wall displayed a looped video of a fireplace, and beneath it hung five decorated stockings. Peter sat on the couch, talking with Ned and MJ. Across from them on the loveseat sat Tony who would occasionally butt into their conversations. In the kitchen, May was finishing up Christmas Dinner. Happy did his best to help her, although she had repeatedly assured him that she didn’t need any. Everything was so warm, so comforting, so perfect. Too perfect.
The jarring difference between the scenario he’d dreamt and the harsh reality that he faced every day never ceased to jolt him awake. He slowly got out of bed and carefully made his way through the dark, messy apartment to the bathroom. He turned on the light and began to turn on the sink faucet when he caught a glimpse of himself in the bathroom mirror. He had eyebags that could pass as eye luggage, his eyebrows were closely knit together, his mouth formed a depressing frown. Peter stood in disbelief at the figure in front of him. There was no way that this exhausted individual could possibly be him. He was Spider-Man, a symbol of hope. Looking in the mirror then, he didn’t embody hope nor did he feel any.
He continued to turn on the water and splashed some on his face to break himself out of his spell. He brushed his teeth, washed his face, and got ready for the day ahead of him. As he was leaving the apartment building, he ran into one of his neighbors while in the hall; an older lady named Norma Hughes.
“Mornin’ Mrs. Hughes.”
“Why, good morning Peter! Headed off to work?”
Peter nodded his head, “Yep.” he replied.
“Have you eaten breakfast?” In the three months he’d been at the apartment, Peter grew relatively close to Norma— as close as he’d allow himself to be anyway. He would help her unload groceries or clean, and in return she would make sure he was fed and doing well. She told him that he reminded her of her own son when he was younger.
“No, not yet. I was gonna grab something on my way there.”
She began to dig something out of her purse.
“Oh no, you don’t have to get me anything. I swear I’ll stop by somewhere!” Peter frantically waved his arms in an attempt to discourage the older woman from going through the trouble of giving him something.
“Nonsense,” she pulled out two granola bars, “Here, take them. Yes?” she didn’t wait for a response, she shoved them into Peter’s hand.
Having no say in the matter, Peter accepted the bars. “Thank you.”
“Of course, sweetheart.” she gave him a smile. “Have a good day!”
“You too.” He turned and made his way to the nearest bus stop.
While on the bus, Peter debated on whether or not he’d go to the shop MJ worked at for breakfast. It was a Saturday morning and she typically worked an opening shift then. He visited often, and was recognized as a regular, but nothing more than that. And that deeply hurt him. Regardless, he continued to visit with the plan of one day telling her what happened— maybe rekindle what they once had. But he knew she’d think he was crazy. And he couldn’t afford to lose her again.
Exiting the bus, Peter was met with the brisk winter air. “I do not want to deliver pizzas in this weather.” he muttered under his breath.
Peter stood in front of Peter Pan’s, overthinking the interaction set to unfold. It was 9:13 in the morning. The shop opened at nine. He didn’t want to be the only one in the shop this early. He didn’t want MJ to think he was a weirdo. He already conveniently came in anytime MJ worked. If he came in early, maybe she’d think he wanted alone time with her. (He did but he wanted that to be unknown to her.)
The door to the shop opened, breaking Peter’s thoughts.
“You coming in? Or are you gonna just wait out there and catch hypothermia?” It was MJ. She leaned against the doorway with an eyebrow quirked up. A slight look of confusion and concern painted her face.
“Oh, oh yeah. I’m coming right in.” Peter frantically walked to the door, slipping on ice before he caught himself.
“Nice save.” MJ joked. Peter couldn’t help himself from cracking a smile.
MJ made her way behind the counter to the register. They were the only two in the front of the shop; the thing he feared was true. He fidgeted with the adjustment strings to his outer coat.
“So, what can I get for you, Peter?” Peter was in slight shock. For the month he’d been a customer there, she’d never called him by his name. It felt somewhat wrong. She along with everyone else had forgotten him. No one in his life before Strange’s incantation had called his name since. “Hello? Earth to Peter.” She waved a hand in front of his face.
“Oh- um. I’ll get a sausage breakfast sandwich, a mocha, and,” he turned his head towards the doughnut display, “a maple bar.”
“Did you want a warm mocha or iced?”
“Warm, please.”
“Coming right up.”
Peter watched as MJ brewed his coffee and prepared his sandwich. He watched the same hands that once embraced him pour creamer into his mocha. He watched the same eyes that once looked into his with adoration check the oven timer for his pre-made sandwich. So badly did he wish to reveal that they were once in love and that she had just forgotten. But he wasn’t ready. Maybe he could force himself. It took him a couple of months to even come back to the shop, how long would it take for him to gain the courage to tell her the truth? If he continued to “save it for later” he would never do it.
MJ returned to the cashier counter; coffee, sandwich, and doughnut in hand. “That’ll be $16.47.” Peter fumbled for his wallet. He handed her cash.
As she was counting his change, Peter worked himself up to tell her everything. His nerves escalated and he could feel an uncomfortable amount of saliva build up in his mouth. He swallowed nervously, waiting for her to look up from the cashbox. She eventually did, and handed him his cash back. He dropped a coin while trying to put it inside his wallet. He left it on the floor. He met eyes with MJ, itching to tell her.
“You okay?” MJ questioned.
“Yeah, no. I’m fine” he replied, unconvincingly.
“So… is that like a ‘yes’ or ‘no’?” She seemed a bit more worried.
“It’s a ‘yes’. I’m okay, I swear.” Peter hurriedly grabbed his stuff. “Thank you.” He offered her a smile to ease her worry.
She returned a half-smile, “No problem.”
Peter scurried to the door, “Bye.” he yelled to MJ. She waved a ‘goodbye’ in return, though Peter didn’t see.
His shift as a delivery boy went as smoothly as it could. The electric bike they’d allowed Peter to use during deliveries proved to be a challenge to ride in the snow. So much so, that Peter debated on using his webshooters to swing the orders to their respective customers. But he wouldn’t dare do that. Since the fall, Peter had been keeping a low-profile. He avoided many risky things in relation to his Spider-Man identity. For the bigger issues of New York, he relied on the other vigilanties to handle it, just as any other everyday New Yorker would.
Peter returned to his apartment building and stumbled across Mrs. Hughes once more. They exchanged a quick conversation and continued to their units. Peter plopped on the bed and let out a huge sigh. He started to think about his interaction with MJ earlier but quickly dismissed those thoughts. He walked to his closet and threw on his spider suit. He’d drown his overwhelming thoughts in his hero work as he always did.
The next morning, there was a knock at Peter’s door. Assuming it was Mrs. Hughes, he jumped out of bed and rushed to the door. He looked through the peephole and saw two people he did not recognize; a woman and a man in formal wear. The man knocked once again.
“Coming!” Peter called, although he was already there. He opened the door just enough to poke his head and shoulders out. “Hey, can I help you with something?”
“I’m Rachel, this is Mike. We’re social workers for CPS. We got a call to this address regarding the negligence of a child.”
Peter furrowed his brows in confusion. Yeah, he was still a minor, but he earned enough to care for himself. He may have been paid under the table, and he paid his rent money in cash as he didn’t have a bank account, but there was no way that anyone could know that. He kept his age a secret. “I think you have the wrong address.” He said.
“Are you Peter Parker?” the man, Mike asked. There was no denying it now.
“Yes, I’m Peter.”
“Can we come in?” Rachel asked, “We need to perform an investigation.”
Reluctantly, Peter opened the door fully and motioned for them to come in. “I’m sorry for the mess, wasn’t expecting company.” That earned a chuckle from the social workers. It wasn’t meant to be a joke.
Peter gestured towards the table in the middle of the common area and the social workers sat down, Peter across from them. There was an awkward silence. Peter twiddled his thumbs as Rachel pulled out a file and began sifting through paperwork. She pulled out one document.
“It says here that your legal guardian is ‘Maybelle Reilly Parker-Jameson’. Is she around? We’d like to have a word with her.”
Peter’s heart sank. He knew she was gone, but he hadn’t thought much about it. Much like the night before, he would put on the suit whenever he was confronted with the death of May. This had undoubtedly screwed his grieving process.
“She passed a couple months back.” He responded, his head was now hung and he sped up the twiddling of his thumbs.
“I’m so sorry to hear that.” Rachel offered her condolences. It was a vain offer, she didn’t really care. It was only the correct response to what Peter had revealed to her.
“Yeah.” Peter uttered, barely over a whisper. “But I do well on my own. I make enough to pay rent, utilities, and other things.”
“And that’s impressive,” Mike spoke up this time, “But unfortunately, you’re an unemancipated minor living on your own. You’ll have to go to court to have this solved legally.”
“In the meantime, you’ll have to come with us. We’ll try and schedule a court date for you as soon as we can. But since we know you’re here on your own, we have to take you in.” Rachel finished for him.
Peter looked up at the two in front of him, “Like now?” he asked.
“Well, yes. But no rush! You can grab all that you need.” Rachel replied.
Peter dismissed himself from the table and walked to the bedroom, swiftly shutting the door behind him. He sat on his bed, placing his head in his hands. He could never catch a break. Anytime he was remotely comfortable, something terrible had to happen. He popped back up and began to pack when he got the sinking feeling that something wasn’t right. They seemed legitimate, but who called them? Peter wasn’t familiar with the agency or the rights of unemancipated minors. He couldn’t recall anything from when his aunt and uncle gained custody of him either. What if he was being taken advantage of? He told himself that there was nothing to be concerned about and continued packing.
Peter returned to the common area, the man and woman were startled by his return. They quickly snapped their heads in his direction.
“All done?” Rachel asked. Peter nodded his head in response.
The three of them made their way to the state van. They came across Mrs. Hughes in the hallway. She gave Peter a sympathetic look.
They reached the vehicle. It was a blue Ford minivan. Its license plate was the standard New York state issued one. Peter took note of that.
As they got closer to the office building, Peter’s gut feeling intensified. He couldn’t shake the feeling that something was wrong. But as he looked at the large words on the side of the building, he saw that it was an actual government office. He felt so conflicted.
Once in the building, Peter was escorted to a room where he was left alone. It was cold and uninviting. It wasn’t an indicator that these people weren’t actual government workers, seeing as though the system sucks, but he took note of this as well. The longer he sat in that room, the worse the feeling got. He felt scared. He wanted to flee. He snatched his bags up and went into the hallway, searching for the nearest faculty member. He saw Rachel.
“Hey, where’s the nearest bathroom? I really need to go.” he tried to make the lie seem convincing. He thought he had failed when it took Rachel some time to respond.
“Yeah, it’s right down the hall this way, to the left.” She said as she pointed down the hall.
“Thank you.” Peter paced himself while walking to the bathroom, he didn’t want to come off as antsy or suspicious. He locked the door behind him and tried to calm down. But he couldn’t. He knew something was up, he didn’t know what it was but he had to leave. He approached the bathroom window. It was barred. No problem. He opened the window and tore the bars from the outside of the building. He contemplated about whether or not to flee one last time before jumping out of the window. Luckily, it was floor level.
He began to run away from the building when he noticed a guy in all black tailing him with a firearm. This was most definitely a setup. The man started to shoot at him and Peter ducked to evade the bullets. In the corner of his eye, he saw another man headed towards him. This second man tackled him and knocked them both to the ground, causing him to drop his bags. Peter stood up and grabbed the bag containing his suit but not before the man grabbed his ankle. Peter stomped on his chest, causing the man the let go, and continued running. To hell with that second bag. There was nothing important in it anyways. A few more people were chasing him at this point, and it was getting harder for him to lose them.
Peter spotted a nearby subway station. He quickly made his way down the entrance, jumped over a turnstile and made it into the car just in time for the departure— leaving the men following him staring through the window, seething with rage. Everyone in the car was staring at him. He awkwardly smiled and waved. He then leant against the support pole behind him, attempting to catch his breath.
Where would he go? He couldn’t go back to his apartment. Those guys knew where he lived. He couldn’t ask to stay at anyone’s place, he didn’t know anyone. Or rather, no one knew him. Should he even stay in New York? He was so tired. Not only from running just then, but for holding the weight of the world on his shoulders. He couldn’t handle things on his own anymore; he couldn’t deny that fact any longer. So where could he go to hide from the men on his back and get support?
Defeated, he banged the back of his head onto the pole and closed his eyes in frustration. When he opened them, he caught a glimpse of a poster urging people to visit the “new” Liberty statue. He eyed the shield Lady Liberty wielded. Then it dawned on him.
It was a cold, dark, and windy night in Delacroix, Louisiana. Everyone in the quiet, small town was asleep. Inside lights were off and their porch lights were on. Peter felt bad as he approached one of the houses, he didn’t want to disturb the sleep of the people inside. Unenthusiastically, Peter knocked on the door. He paused and started to retreat when he saw a light turn on inside. Seconds later, a dark skinned woman with her hair in twists answered the door. A look of utter confusion washed her face.
“Does Sam Wilson live here?”