Chapter Text
Life is a cruel and twisted game. It is a combination of hurt, heartache and everything that is found in between. Peter learnt this at a very early age. Consistently, every good that he experienced was found to be temporary, eventually ripped harshly from his grasp the second he began to believe that the happiness would have no end. Pain, however, that stayed- lingered in the shadows wherever he went, just visible enough to know that it was still there, waiting for the perfect moment to jump out and embed itself into his skin. It became a part of who he is, and although he would never admit this out loud, he found its presence comforting.
Obviously, he knew that his way of thinking was a bit (very) fucked up, but he wasn't naïve enough- anymore- to believe that the world was all love and light- not when he had undisputable proof of the exact opposite. Yet, despite that fact that he knew of the cold and bitter reality of life, most people didn't. So, every morning, Peter shoved all the unwelcome and intruding thoughts to a vault at the back of his mind, and put on a mask (pun intended) of smart quips and passionate rambling, as a way to ensure that the darkness that peter carried with him, the one that he was trying really hard not to think about, couldn't get its sharp claws into anyone else.
The one thing Peter still genuinely found joy in was Spider-Man, it was the only time where his carefully curated persona felt less... well fake. So, swinging through New York, listening a playlist filled with his aunt and uncles favourite songs, on his earpiece that he made a few months ago to tap into the avengers comms during battle (Mr Stark wasn't too thrilled about that), was probably one of the best parts of his day.
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On this particular day, Peter had been startled awake, shaking and sweating violently, sometime around two in the morning due to a nightmare, which thankfully worked out in his favour since he had to leave for work not long after. Peter actually quite enjoyed his job, it wasn't exactly what he had envisioned doing as a kid (well... a younger kid), but it was fun nonetheless- and the pay was better than most of the other places he could find. The fact that his shifts were almost always at night, meaning he mostly got to work on his own tech, was an added bonus. His job gave him something to do that would break up the paralysing isolation inbetween his patrols.
If he was being honest, the garage he worked at was a bit run down, but in Queens he wouldn't expect anything else. All of the tools were barely usable and the walls looked seconds away from crumbling down, however his boss had stuck up a mismatched range of posters and signs to try and cover this up. Peter's work station was probably the nicest part of the building, although he was most likely bias. It had a small wooden desk that was always littered with blueprints and half finished contraptions, and he had a cracked leather chair that he would spin around on when he got bored. Months ago, when Peter first started, he brought in some tools of his own (that had previously belonged to Ben), which he kept hidden away in the desk to avoid them getting stolen by his co-workers.
Despite working there for months now, Peter didn't really know most of the people he worked with. Since the business didn't get many customers at night, the vigilante often spent his shifts alone, and the few times he did come across another co-worker, it was only briefly. Peter didn't mind that much, not because he thought they were bad people, but because he imagined they wouldn't have much to bond over- especially since most of them were over a decade older than him.
After the short walk from his apartment, Peter unlocked the door, a bell ringing as he entered, and went to work on fixing his web-shooters, one of which had been smashed during patrol earlier in the week. Out of everything, he enjoyed working on his Spider-Man gear the most. He was always getting new ideas for upgrades, that half the time turned out being a massive failure, but occasionally, he would pull it off and get to improve his web-slinging and crime fighting.
A couple of hours after his shift started, around five, Peter was snapped out of focus by the door being pushed open, the quite bell sound ringing out simultaneously. Quickly, he turned around to flick the main lights on, since he usually kept them off, relying a dim lamp, as to avoid overwhelming his dialled up senses. And the boy began subtly clearing any Spider-Man gadgets out of view.
"Hello?" A gruff voice called out, "The sign says you're open."
Turning around, and plastering a smile on his face, Peter replied cheerfully, "Yes we are, welcome! I'm Peter, how can I help you on this fine morning?"
The man paused at his overly friendly response, seeming as if he was debating just walking right back out. Peter honestly wouldn't blame him, even he cringed a bit at the amount of faux enthusiasm that was put into it. Ultimately, the man must have decided to stay because he started walking over to Peter.
Now that the lights were turned on, Peter could get a better look at his customer. The man was taller than most people, and since Peter was sat down, he towered over him. Glancing around the room, he had an aura of hesitancy or caution surrounding him, as if he were expecting to be attacked- which wouldn't be all that surprising in this area. Erratically, his inky hair hung down, resting just above his shoulders and he wore a leather jacket and black jeans- it was an outfit that Peter wouldn't have thought would look good, but this guy pulled it off seamlessly.
After doing yet another scan of the relatively small room, the man turned back to Peter, "Are you the only one here?"
"I am!" Peter retorted far too fervently for the ungodly hour, "But if you're looking for a particular employee, most people will be in at eight."
"No, you'll do," the gentleman uttered, concerningly not expanding on what he meant. Nonetheless, Peter decided to not let the ominous attitude deter his chipper attitude that he'd managed to gather the energy for.
"Well then, what can I do for you today?"
The tall stranger stalled doubtfully before continuing, "Do you think you could repair a metal arm?... Like a prosthetic?"
At this Peter was the one to pause. Sure, he probably could, but it really wasn't his area of expertise and he would be in a lot of trouble if his boss were to find out. However, the stranger appeared extremely more on edge due to the boy's lack or response, and Peter really didn't want to upset his only customer in weeks- especially since he got extra money for every customer he helped.
"Well..." Peter started warily, "It's not really what we specialise in here, but I'm fairly confidant I have the abilities to help with whatever you need."
Slowly, the man looked the younger mechanic up and down, almost as if sizing him up, before nodding to himself in approval. Peter didn't really understand, yet he took this to be a positive thing. Just as the silence began to get awkward, the man lowered himself into the chair across from Peter's with a soft grunt- almost like he was in pain. Still not speaking, he began to take of his jacket, the zips and buckles clinking as he did, revealing one of the coolest prosthetics arms that Peter had ever seen- and being Spider-Man since he was fourteen meant he had seen pretty much everything, including prosthetics.
This specific arm was nothing like other prosthetics- it looked exactly like a flesh arm would. The shape was perfectly symmetrical to this man's other arm and it moved almost seamlessly.
Upon the reveal, Peter's inner-nerd unwillingly took over, and he began rambling in excitement, about everything from the joints to the ways the panels moved unbelievably human-like. Based on the stranger's previous attitude in their limited interactions, Peter would have expected him to be extremely deturbed by this, but he instead seemed to become more comfortable, an amused smirk appearing subtly on his face.
After far too long, he realised he had been talking incoherently and had completely been ignoring his only customer. The realisation making him become red-faced and awkward, which seemed to amuse the man even further. Now that he was more aware of his surroundings, he finally noticed the exposed wires and misplaced pieces of metal entangled with the arm.
"Umm... sorry about that," Peter decidedly avoided eye contact while talking, "What can I help you with?"
An expression which appeared to say, Are you serious?, painted across the man's face, as he gestured vaguely towards his left arm.
Feeling dumb, Peter nodded in response, and began to get to work on the arm, relaying once again that he wasn't exactly qualified, or allowed to do this before hand. As he worked, he talked idly, carrying most of the conversation, not that he minded. Unexpectedly, the man (James, he learnt) gave the impression of being relaxed for the most part, giving small grunts or gesturers when he deemed necessary as a response.
Due to the complexity and delicately of the metal limb, Peter had to use his own tool, but he found he didn't mind. He couldn't exactly pinpoint it, but the man sat before him made Peter feel more comfortable than he had around people in years. It was nice, to let the tension he usually held in his shoulders ease away.
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Overall, it took about an hour and a half for Peter to get the arm to a point he was happy with, and the had sun almost fully risen. Upon being done, James offered to pay far more than what Peter had quoted, but after attempting to decline once, the cash was shoved into his hand. Thanking him quietly and slipping his jacket back on, James turned around and left, Peter shouting a friendly goodbye behind him and wishing him a good day.
The rest of his shift went by in relative silence, and Peter went back to fixing his web-shooters. Before long, it was time for him to leave, and he was seriously debating going home to take nap feeling the lack of sleep from the previous weeks catching up to him, but decided against it. Instead, he went to purchase some breakfast from a small hole-in-the-wall café, which he frequented (since it was right by his work), before slipping into his suit and swinging off around Queens for the remainder of the day, until the sun began to set.
Exhausted, he stumbled back into his apartment around eleven, and was forced to blindly feel around the wall to try and find the light switch. He wasn't all that familiar with his new home yet, but it was one of the nicer places in the area. However, the area definitely didn't have a particularly pleasant reputation, even for Queens usual standard. In his opinion, the small apartment had a welcoming and cosy feeling, although you could almost definitely tell a teenage boy lived here with all the half finished tasks left abandoned on every surface.
That night, Peter went about his usual routine of tending to any injuries (as well as he could with his limited medical knowledge), taking a quick and cold shower in order to save the little money he had, then finally having something quick to eat before practically collapsing into his bed- falling into a dream filled and restless sleep for a couple of hours before he had to be up again for work.