Chapter Text
“Happy birthday!”
“Not my birthday yet.” Peter smiles at his friend.
Ned checks his phone’s clock. “Almost. One hour and you’ll be eighteen, an adult. After MJ, you’re the oldest between the three of us.”
The girl on Peter’s left, Michelle Jones, looks up at the stars in the sky. “I never understood that. Why do we ask ‘How old are you?’? I mean, how can you say to anyone that you’re eighteen years old? Eighteen is not old.”
Peter laughs with Ned and they keep walking on the streets of Queens, New York’s neighborhood.
Tomorrow will be Peter’s birthday, but both his friends will be busy and so will be his aunt. So Ned and MJ invited him to dinner tonight to party and give him gifts.
He’d fun and he’s always grateful to be able to spend extra time with Ned and Michelle. They also respected his only request: no cake. ‘Cause cake means candles. And candles mean wishes.
He stopped making them many years ago; they never came true. Wishes, hopes and dreams are for toddlers. He’s not a baby anymore.
In his last wish, he asked for his parents to return early from their business trip. Their plane had crashed and they were dead. Peter was only six years old.
His last hope had been to be adopted by a loving family, while he waited for answers under his aunt and uncle’s roof. But no one seemed interested in a child with large glasses, a brain that works too quickly with thoughts, and who suffers from asthma attacks.
In his last dream, his Uncle Ben survived the shooting at the convenience store four years ago. Which is a lie. Ben Parker died before his eyes, his hands pressing on the bleeding wound.
But… Peter’s fine. Really.
He loves his aunt May, his friends and his school. He likes Midtown High classes. This school will be his winning ticket to go to a good college.
When they arrive at Parker’s apartment, Peter says goodnight to his friends and goes inside. He takes the elevator to his floor, uses his keys and left the backpack with the gifts in the lounge.
He takes the inhaler from his pocket and inhales from it. He avoids stairs for this, but he still feels short of breath.
His gaze falls on the table, where there’s some mail: the gas bill, the heating bill, and the electricity bill. Great. Maybe he can find a job, even if May wants him to focus on his studies. Desperate times call for desperate measures.
Things were easier when Ben was still here.
He goes to the fridge – he needs some vitamins; his body always seems to lack energy as if he is not eating enough – and he notices a note stuck to the door with May’s calligraphy.
‘A colleague of the night shift is sick; I’ve to cover for him. Sorry, honey, I'll see you tomorrow afternoon. Larb you. Happy birthday.
xoxo May’
Well, that was to be expected.
It’s okay. Doesn’t matter.
May’s a wonderful woman, and she found herself having to care for a child from one day to the next. She does what she can, even if it means working ridiculous hours at the hospital as a nurse.
But that child is now a young man. And he couldn’t save her husband.
Peter has always felt helpless, useless. He wants to do more, be more.
But he’s just an orphan. And there’s always something inside of him that stops him. Maybe he needs a push. Or maybe it’s all just an error. He’s just Peter Parker. A friendly neighborhood kid.
In the midst of love, can one feel alone, despite May, Ned, and MJ?
He opens the fridge and finds a cupcake, the one May bought for him and gave him for breakfast and which he refused because he was late for school, limiting himself to an apple to take away.
He checks the clock on the wall: three minutes to midnight.
Peter sighs. “Why not?”
He places the cupcake on the table and sticks the little blue candle he found in a drawer into it. He lights it with a lighter and closes his eyes.
Even if it’s stupid and childish, hoping never hurt. He would do it one last time. He closes his eyes at midnight.
One last wish. “Never again a birthday alone.” He blows and the flame goes out.
Someone’s knocks at the door.
Peter opens his eyes. What the…? The timing is almost hilarious.
He adjusts his glasses and heads to open the door. Maybe May forgot something.
And… she’s so not May.
A girl, a child. Maybe ten years old? Her big brown eyes are looking at him with some kind of light in them and her smile is genuine, her brown hair reaches her shoulders and she wears a pink summer T-shirt with flowers. She has a backpack on her shoulders and a big red book under one arm.
“Uhm…” Peter checks the corridor that separates his apartment from those of his neighbors and doesn’t see any adults with the little girl. “Hi. Can I help you?”
No uniform and no biscuits, so not a Girl Scout. Especially not at this time.
“Are you Peter Parker?”
Now that’s weird. “I am. And you are…?”
She keeps on smiling. “My name is Morgan Stark. I’m your little sister.”
His what?! “Excuse me?”
The little girl wrinkles her nose. “Is your house on fire?” She comes in.
Peter is so shocked that he can’t stop her and closes the door to follow her. “Don’t you know you don’t go into strangers’ houses?”
“You’re not a stranger, you’re my brother.” She sees the cupcake and points at it. “Can I have a bite?”
Who cares? “Take it all, if you want. Anyway, what are you talking about? Who are you? I don’t know you and certainly I don’t have any brother or sister.”
She puts the book on the table and removes the decorated paper from the cake to eat it. “Are you adopted?”
His heart stops. How does she know? “I was adopted as a baby, but then my parents died. Now I live with my aunt.”
She speaks while chewing. “See? I’m your biological sister.”
What? No, okay, something’s not right. “How old are you?”
“Ten.”
As he thought. “Then you’re lying, little miss. I ended up in child welfare custody when I was only a few months old because all my relatives had died, then Mary and Richard Parker adopted me. I’m eight years older than you. There’s no way we’re siblings.”
Biological parents died, adopted parents died, uncle Ben died. It’s freaking Parker luck.
“That’s only what they made you think.”
Huh? “Who?”
She shrugs. “I still don’t know. We’ll have to find out.”
Find out what? His head’s gonna explode. This kid is so…
He passes her a napkin to clean her face from the chocolate. “What’s your name again?”
“Morgan H. Stark.”
Stark. Stark… Where did he hear that?
“Wait a minute.” He opens Google on his smartphone and searches for the surname. This is a joke. “Is genius, billionaire, playboy, philanthropist Tony Stark your father?”
The man who revolutionized the arms industry, the Merchant of Death, the one who’s both feared and loved by the public.
Dad of this little cutie? No way.
“Our father, Petey.”
He’s about to get a little nervous. What language does this little girl speak? “No, your father, Morgan.”
“No, our.” She throws away the dirty napkin and retrieves the book. “You just don’t remember.”
“Remember what?”
Morgan shows him the book. The title is ‘Marvel’. “Your story. Your family. Who you truly are. You’re not just Peter Parker, you’re Spider-Man. A superhero, like our Daddy. He’s Iron Man. You, him, all of you forgot because of the Dark Curse. I still don’t know which of your enemies did it, that’s why I’m here. You must come home with me, so we can reunite our family, defeat the villain and break the curse. You’re the only one who can do it, ‘cause it all started with you.”
Peter blinks. Twice. He swallows.
He’s wrong. This is the real joke.