Chapter Text
No one on the streets wanted to be there and they all hurried along as the wind picked up. The clouds had been threatening rain all day; swirling and convulsing above the city and Peter had been watching them through the school windows as he sat through his last lesson.
But the bell had finally rung and he was thundering down the pavement with his coat flapping upon from the blustering gusts of wind and his brown curls were battered against his forehead as he ducked his head in an attempt to keep them under control. Narrowly dodging a man who was charging along, not looking where he was going, Peter shouted out as the briefcase the guy had been carrying slammed into his ribs. He faltered for a moment, wincing from the shock of pain and swirled around to call out something, but the man had already vanished between the crowds. Gritting his teeth, he moved along.
Within the three steps he took backwards, Peter turned and came face to face with a red-faced boy who was panting heavily. His eyes were wide open and there was a sagging rucksack in his hand but he apologised without hesitation and the two boys skirted past each other. Then, Peter continued on with a bitter scowl and turned onto a more well-known street where the larger office buildings and apartment blocks with shops underneath soon dwindled into homes with bare front gardens and people he recognised as they climbed out of their cars.
One house, a ten-minute walk from the main road, was where Peter lived. Looking the exact same as the others, it was crowded with younger children and rarely quiet once school ended. But he had managed to secure himself a cramped box-bedroom on the first floor when he first arrived at the home and successfully kept it to himself. So, whilst the other four kids all had to share a room, he actually had moments of peace.
Once he managed to slip past the questioning from Mark, the man who ran the place, Peter hurried up the stairs and slumped down onto his bed. He let out a long sigh and rubbed at his eyes. The school day had felt much longer than it actually was with two tests, and homework due for each lesson but there was even more work to do. Peter pulled out his exercise books and textbooks from his bag and hoisted himself up onto the large windowsill that jutted out just above his bed. Once he found a pen that was still shoved into his pocket, Peter slumped down and plodded through the rest of the homework that had been set; the bad side to a science school. Either way, he finished each bit with reasonable effort and dropped the homework onto the mattress beneath him. A shout rang up the stairs.
Then there was a hurried knocking on his door and Peter slipped down from the windowsill before yanking on the handle. One of his closer friends, MJ, was standing in the hallway with an awkward smile.
“Dinner’s ready,” she said quietly and Peter shut the door behind him. They both trudged downstairs to the cramped dining room that Mark insisted they used each night. There were two pans on the table, plates set out with cutlery, and the man was waiting for them both. Sitting down, there was a loud thump from upstairs and Mark winced before he sighed quietly.
“Is everyone in tomorrow night?” Mark asked, once the young boy who’d stumbled down the stairs was sitting down; his face flushed bright red. Peter shook his head. “Where are you then?” he asked with a sigh.
“Practice?”
“For…”
“Badminton. It’s later on Tuesdays, remember?” Mark stared at him and Peter saw a muscle in his jaw clench.
“Right. Anyone else?”
“I’m going to my friend's house,” the youngest girl piped up and Mark nodded stiffly. Peter glanced around awkwardly and shoved a forkful of pasta into his mouth. Chewing, he locked eyes with MJ and cracked a small smile. She bowed her head slightly before inhaling swiftly and returned to the meal. They’d become friends after Peter was enrolled in the same school a couple of years ago, and fell into a routine of a relaxed friendship that required little more than an odd smile or a warning for Mark’s mood to keep it alive.
“I have homework,” Peter told Mark the second his plate was empty and stood without an answer. Obediently, he took the dirty crockery to the kitchen and shoved them into the dishwasher; the correct way so that Mark couldn’t get him in trouble for something. Then, he slinked up the stairs as he overheard the last snippets of the blossoming conversation in the dining room, but it wasn’t about him like it sometimes was.
The bathroom had water splattered across the floor as always, but it was the only time in the day, especially at home, that Peter could smoke in peace. He dealt with the water on the floor, and stripped down to just his vest and boxers. He could admit he looked in the mirror a few times. And clambered up onto the windowsill with his crumpled box of cigarettes and a cheap lighter he’d bought from his favourite corner store a few weeks before.
From there, he could see the street below. The faint cries from a cat that were strangled and shrieking, echoed down the street from a side alley, and a bird of some kind was crying out loudly from the top of a lamppost. The cars were completely still. From the windows of the houses, light glowed from thin gaps in the curtains. He watched the pavements from his perch with the air hazy from smoke, but there was nothing down there. The stars weren’t visible above, but he remembered the bright skies at night before everything fell into place. He could lie on his bed, or spread out in the garden, and look up at the clusters of stars and point at the comets. This was enough to stave off the sickness that plagued so many children here. But, Peter knew he would never see that again, or at least, not for a very long time.
There were footsteps outside the bathroom door. Peter jolted from the window, chucking the cigarette stub out of the window, before he dropped down onto the toilet seat. A moment passed in silence. He stood there and waited, then someone knocked on the door.
“Yes?”
“Mark wants to speak with you,” MJ replied awkwardly. And Peter sighed.
This happened every so often; Mark would call him down, there would be some stand-off, and Peter would leave. Every time. Rubbing at his eyes, he shoved the box of cigarettes and lighter into the pocket of his jeans, and tugged them on again.
The kitchen was silent as he stepped through the doorway. Mark was standing by the sink, arms elbow-deep in the soapy water and he glanced over his shoulder.
“You’re turning eighteen soon. But I wanted to tell you that you’re going to stay here until you graduate high school as long as you’re still following all of the rules…so on. You know what will happen if you don’t follow the rules. I wanted to make that clear, alright?” Mark began and Peter grunted in response. “We do need to start planning for what’s happening after you graduate, so…are you applying to stay in foster care with support, or something like that, or college maybe? I want you to do something at least and not waste away somewhere.”
“College, probably,” Peter replied after an awkward pause. “I’m trying for a scholarship at Columbia. And New York University as well. They already have pretty high acceptance rates from the things that I’ve seen, so…”
“What do the scholarships include? Have you…have you looked? I’m sure the government will provide support for some things if you’re part of a program, so make sure they all fit together. And you need to actually apply for those things. I can get in touch with your social worker.”
“Ok.”
“And check the GPA requirements, GED, all that stuff because-”
“Yeah, I know.” Peter ignored Mark’s twisted expression.
“I know you know, but I’m reminding you that-”
“You’ve told me this before. And it’s fine. One of my teachers is helping me with the applications anyway. You don’t need to do anything.”
“Except you do need me to sign everything,” Mark pointed out. “Don’t throw this all away, Peter. It was a miracle you managed to stay at that science school, so make sure you use it.”
“I know. I’m not stupid.”
“Clearly not.”
“Fuck off,” Peter spat out a second later; his heart beginning to pound. “You don’t have to be a fucking dick about all of this. It’s not like I’m just sitting on my ass, is it? You just don’t pay attention to me.” Mark scoffed under his breath, glancing around the room as he shook his head.
“You’re seventeen. You don’t need the same attention as the other kids, so why don’t you keep that in your fucking mind. And it’s not exactly like you’re screaming through the night, is it?”
“Yeah, because I fucking learnt not to! Fuck this.” Peter’s skin was burning as he stormed out of the kitchen. He’d fucked it up like always; Parker luck. Marching up the stairs, he could hear Mark shouting after him but he couldn’t hear what he was saying. Or maybe he just didn’t want to listen.
Slamming his bedroom door open, Peter grabbed a t-shirt and a jacket and a pair of socks from his floor. He shoved them on without a second of thought. Then something caught his eye. There was a crumpled mask shoved underneath his dresser and a whirlwind of memories came back to him; he smiled awkwardly. Stuffing the red mask into his jacket pocket, Peter found an old pair of hand wraps, and thundered down the stairs. One of the bedroom doors opened as he left, but he didn’t care who it was.
From the rack of shoes by the front door, Peter grabbed his boots and laced them up tightly. Mark was still clattering around in the kitchen. He yanked the door open and let it slam behind him.
His heart was pounding with each step that he took towards the centre of the city. With his lungs pressing uncomfortably against his ribs, Peter took out a cigarette.
The night became cold as he walked back along the same streets, snaking between streams of people returning home, or setting out for the night. And no one noticed Peter.
It was the year before that Peter took to the streets most nights. Nowadays, it only happened when Mark annoyed him, and he annoyed Mark. He would storm off and chainsmoke somewhere until he returned to his bed long after midnight and now he was going to do it again.
There was a small corner store on the way home from school that never cared about IDs that was a personal favourite of Peter’s. He could drop in, get whatever he wanted, and not even worry about whether he would be allowed to. That’s what he liked; knowing that it wasn’t allowed, but that it didn’t apply to him. So, he slipped through the door, and smiled at the shopkeeper who was hunched over behind the counter.
Cigarettes were on the shelf. Lighters were just in a box. And it was ten dollars all together.
Striding down the street with the small plastic bag in hand, Peter breathed in the cool air and hit the main streets.
When he used to roam these roads last year, Peter was naive. He shoved on a mask, especially after Fisk was arrested, and ran around playing vigilante. It was the fact that he used to compete in boxing, and that he got this rush every time he pummeled someone to the ground. It was rewarding in a sick way. But he didn’t really care, not then anyway. A switch flipped, and that stupid mask ended up underneath his dresser but, despite the dusk, Peter grinned as his fingers brushed against the fabric.
Wind whipped down the street, and Peter shoved his hands into his pockets. He itched to find somewhere to sit down and smoke until dawn, hopefully finding somewhere to get a drink on the way, but there was a police patrol car just across the street so he chewed on his lip and marched onwards. A woman stumbled out of a bar in front of him. Peter simply smiled; he was back. And it was just like he remembered. She laughed loudly, locking eyes with him and smiled gleefully. He kept walking. The chill returned and he ducked into an alleyway to escape the breeze.
From the darkness, Peter saw someone hunched by a bin; their clothing highlighted from a small security light by a warehouse door. He hesitated for a moment, but there was a fire escape a few feet away so he hurried towards it and began the long climb to the top floor. The building was mostly unused: the lights were all off, and there was cardboard covering half of the windows. Finally, Peter managed to lift himself onto the roof, grimacing as his arms strained; they never did that before.
He could see the whole street from the roof and he sat down right on the edge so that his legs could swing in the air. Peter did admit it was colder up there, but the view was worth it. Soaking it all in again, he pulled out his old cigarettes and lit one. The smoke filled his lungs, sinking into each cell until he relaxed on the ledge of the building. A quiet itch was replaced with a gentle hum within him. He lit another. From his pocket, Peter withdrew the hand wraps. They were black, and slightly stretched out, but it worked well enough. He sat there, cigarette held firmly in between his lips, and stretched the wrap between each knuckle, around his thumb, his wrists, and around again. Every so often, he tapped the ash from the cigarette, but soon he was stretching out his fingers with a gleeful smile.
“You’re back,” came a low voice from behind him.
“What the fuck?” Peter blurted out before he even realised what he said, glancing over his shoulder. There was a man standing in the darkness with a red glint in his eyes. “Oh shit.”
“I thought you were gone for good.”
“I got bored,” Peter replied with a forced laugh. “Why do you even care?”
“I don’t.”
“Sure you don’t. Then why are you snooping around here anyway?”
“I heard of a drug deal happening a few blocks down.”
“How did you know I was here then?”
“You’re predictable,” the man replied easily.
“Come off it, Matt. It’s not like I actually vanished, is it? I’ve seen you around,” Peter told him, dropping the stub of his cigarette over the building. Then he lit another one.
“You shouldn’t be smoking,” Matt told him a moment later.
“I don’t care. Where’s the drug deal?”
“You’re not coming.”
“The hell I’m not.”
“You’re insane. You’re chain smoking. I don’t want to know what’s going on inside your head right now,” the man said sternly. “You’re going home.”
“You don’t get to tell me that,” Peter replied as he stood up. “You and Mark, you’re the fucking same. So, fuck off. I’m gonna punch someone whether you like it or not, and it doesn’t fucking matter.”
“That’s what you think?”
“Fucking hell if it is.” There was silence between them, Peter blew smoke from his nose and Matt sighed behind his mask. “You do the same fucking thing, Matt. Don’t try and pretend like it isn’t the exact fucking same.”
“We are not the same, Peter. You’re not coming with me, and if you show up and get fucking killed, then that’s on you.”
“I wasn’t trained to get ‘fucking killed’,” Peter spat back at him.
“You weren’t trained at all.” Matt breathed in sharply and began to turn away.
“And whose fault is that?”
“Don’t even try and blame this on me. That shit that happened? That wasn’t me, that was all you. That was all on you.” He jammed his finger into Peter’s chest. “You’re a fucking child. And you act like it.”
Then he was gone. Peter sucked on the cigarette bitterly before chucking it into a puddle. In a split second, he’d twisted around and slammed his foot into a metal pipe. He shouted loudly, pain throbbing through his leg, but he didn’t stop then. Soon, his hands were aching and didn’t stop hurting until long after he’d stopped the assault on the pipe. His fingers shook as he tried to light another cigarette but the spark didn’t light.
“Fuck! Fuck this. Fuck this.” Peter gritted his teeth, scraping his hands through his hair with his knee bouncing. The mask was lying on the floor after he’d discarded it carelessly. Peter picked it up without a second thought and the sirens grew loud.
Racing down the fire escape, Peter pulled the red mask over his head and pulled the black wraps tight around his hands, before sprinting down the street.
Matt was right. There was a drug deal happening and the police had surrounded a squat apartment block with spotlights shining through the windows. Skidding to a stop, Peter raced up an alleyway and scrambled up the side of a wall using the window ledges and frames to grip onto. Then he sprinted across the roof, jumping over an extractor fan, before coming to a stop. He could hear someone screaming inside the building.
“The hell is he doing in there?” he mumbled coolly. Peering over the ledge, he saw a few police officers sneaking down the alley towards a back door. “I wouldn’t do that,” he called out. One glanced around them. “God you’re gonna’ get yourself killed.”
He backed away from the edge and took in a deep breath. Matt would kill him if he joined in, but he’d be in the man’s good books if he went home. And he definitely wasn’t doing one of those options. Peter backed away even further and kicked off. The air was sucked from his lungs as he jumped.
The roof rose up to catch him and Peter tucked and rolled without a second thought; it was all coming back to him. A shout came from the alleyway, but he took no notice. Peter tried the door leading to the stairwell and groaned once he discovered that it was locked. Glancing around for some kind of metal pipe, he sighed. Taking a step back, he slammed his foot against the door and smiled as the wood splintered. Another kick, and it swung open.
“Weak lock,” he muttered and launched himself through the doorway. The thumping grew louder beneath him and he quickened his pace. Stumbling on the last step, Peter fell into a hallway. The doors had been smashed open, and there were bodies littered across the ground. “What the fuck?” he spat out. “Hey,” Peter began, nudging one of the groaning men, ”where the fuck is he?” The man didn’t reply. So he marched forwards. Glancing into each room as he went, he didn’t find Matt. “Fuck.” He raced down the stairs and then saw mayhem.
He caught a punch that flew straight towards his head and elbowed the guy in the stomach. Another hard hit to his floating rib and the man crumpled. Peter smacked his fist down on the guy’s forehead and grinned. Another man, already bleeding from a gash in his forehead, tried to get him and he met a similar demise of whirling hands and powerful hits.
“What the hell are you doing here?” Matt barked out from the other end of the hallway. One of his short sticks was shoved against a woman’s neck as she struggled relentlessly. “I told you to go home.”
“And I told you that that was bullshit,” Peter called out breathlessly. He narrowly missed a hit to the head but knocked the guy down as he elbowed his neck harshly. “You found the drugs?”
“They’re everywhere.”
“Right.” Peter grunted loudly as someone slammed a stick down onto his back. Twisting around, he grabbed the end of the baton and pulled the man forwards as he fought back a shout of pain. Then he smashed his palm onto the man’s chin and winced at the sound of teeth crunching. “You heard that?”
“Shut the fuck up,” Matt snapped. A wild spurt of laughter echoed down the hallway. “Hey!”
“Alright, fine.” He kicked a man in the stomach, relishing in the sound for a moment before moving on. Matt had disappeared into one of the apartments, leaving Peter to deal with two guys that seemed slightly dazed. Gritting his teeth, he lunged forwards and grabbed a long splinter of wood from a door frame. Then, with one easy swing, Peter smashed the stick into one of the guy's forehead. As he fell forwards, Peter slammed his fist under his jaw. “Ouch,” he mumbled as he dodged an attempted punch to his shoulder. He grabbed the second man’s fist and yanked him forwards into his knee. A strange strangled noise leapt from the man’s throat.
Peter strode towards the apartment Matt had disappeared into and peered through the doorway to see Matt, with his hand tangled in a women’s shirt. He raised his eyebrows as the man screamed into her face, shouting for answers that she wasn’t giving. As he rested against the shattered door frame with his arms crossed against his chest, the walls shuddered: the police had gotten into the building.
“Matt? We might need to get out of here,” Peter called out.
“Shut up.”
Peter glanced down the hallway and scratched underneath his mask. Sighing, he turned back to Matt.
“I’m not joking right now. The police are literally coming right fucking now,” he said over Matt’s interogation. The woman wasn’t going to say anything. “Christ, just leave it!” Finally, the man stood up panting. “Good, great. We’re leaving.”
“You shouldn’t be here,” Matt breathed out.
“Yeah, you already said that,” Peter replied grinning. “Do I need to-”
“Let’s go.”
“Finally.”
Waiting for Matt to walk past him with a slight limp, Peter followed him down the corridor. He could hear the police shouting below them and, as he slipped into the stairwell after Matt, Peter saw the shadows on the walls of the lower floor. He wasted no time racing up the stairs and burst out onto the roof.
“You should’ve gone home,” Matt repeated once they were a few blocks away.
“You knew I wasn’t going to,” Peter muttered. “That’s what I don’t understand. You pretend like your word is the word of God or something. I don’t have to listen to you. You’re literally just some weird guy that decided he cared about a literal child. You know how weird that sounds?” It was just like the other rooftop, but Matt didn’t say anything this time. Peter stared at him. He saw nothing but a cold face. “Fuck this. Why don’t I…just…go and find the Punisher or something? Would you say something then? Would you ‘tell me off’?”
“Peter.”
“You’re not my dad. Neither is Mark. God. I fucking hate this shit.” Tugging off his mask, Peter stared out across the streets. The whole world was beneath him, but not his whole life. There were two sides to him; New York, and…Before. And what was After? He didn’t want it to be at the colleges around here, or across the country, he didn’t want to have to plod along the same pathway. But…what else was there? “You’re not my dad,” he repeated. There was a few more minutes of silence before he breathed out and said, “I don’t know what to do.”
“Go home.”
“God. You’re useless.”
“Stop saying ‘God’. Please.”
“Right..” There was another pause between them and Peter rummaged through his pockets for his cigarettes. “You can go away now. I’ll go home at some point. I just need to wait for Mark to go to bed.”
“Something going on?”
“Nothing more than me being a dick, and him being a dick back,” Peter replied with a cigarette between his lips. “It’s whatever.” Matt shrugged from his shadowed place.
“You know I’d help.”
“Yes. I don’t want you to though,” Peter told him and blew out smoke carefully. “Bye.”
Peter didn’t hear Matt leaving but he did. And he stayed on the rooftop until he’d smoked three cigarettes and had burnt his fingers at least four times. Then he made his way down a random fire escape. With the handwraps still strapped to his wrists, Peter wandered through the streets in a slight daze. He probably went in a circle a few times but made it back to his front door before dawn.
Mark was asleep: all the lights were off so Peter sat down on the front door step and unlaced one of his boots. Inside, beneath the ball of his right foot, was his front door key. With his fingers tangled in his laces, he opened the door as carefully as possible and took off his second shoe. The hallway was silent as Peter padded towards the kitchen. There was no one else awake. He could’ve done a lot of things, but instead, Peter crept up the stairs to his bedroom. There was no one there waiting for him.
Lying in bed, Peter almost wished that Mark had been awake just so that he knew that man cared. At least Matt cared, even if Peter hated it. At least he could count on Matt to carry him out of a fire, Mark didn’t even know he was in the blaze.