Chapter Text
Breaking and entering a rich man’s basement was harder than it looked.
It had taken a lot to get him to this point. Right, sure, he’d lost his identity and nobody remembered him; he’d been prepared for that. Turned out, though, it’s pretty hard to stay alive when you don’t really exist. He’d managed to scrape by with forged paperwork here and there, but honestly? Getting money was a struggle.
Karen didn’t recognize him anymore, so he’d had to make his own suit. He liked to think he was pretty good at sewing now, with how many times he’d had to remake and repair it. There were, however, a couple problems he was struggling to overcome.
Everything had worked fine for a while. It was only now that he’d been doing this for a couple years that some of the essential technology began to wear down. He’d busted and rebuilt his webshooters so many times that they only worked if he smacked them at a specific angle first.
Yeah, he could go back to what he was doing before and build them out of stuff that was just lying around, but he couldn’t deny that the higher quality ones made him more efficient. They were quick, they had different modes, they were a link to the life he used to have… what’s the point of being depressed if you’re also slow?
Plus, the cashiers at the drug store were starting to give him weird looks every time he bought another batch of chemicals. It was time for a change.
The good news? He knew exactly where to get all his supplies. The bad news? It was sort of stealing, and all of it was locked up in Tony Stark’s basement.
Only sort of stealing, though. It was fine. Stark had willed a bunch of his stuff to Peter Parker. You know, the guy who no longer existed. Even if he did exist, he wasn’t supposed to have access to it until he was 25. Now it was just sitting there, moved down to the lowest level of the tower, waiting.
Pepper had addressed the problem of all the missing stuff on the news once. She’d said she assumed Tony had meant to leave it to Spiderman, given that most of it had his logo on it, but there was no proof, really. So there it sat.
He was sure if he showed up as Spiderman and asked nicely, he’d be allowed to have it. But he didn’t think he could talk to Pepper without crying, so breaking and entering it was.
It was truly amazing the lengths he would go to avoid emotional closure. Oh well.
He made it all the way to Stark Tower’s doors, dressed in a ratty old jacket and a beanie, before realizing he didn’t really have a plan. It would be nice if FRIDAY recognized him and let him in, but given that Karen sure didn’t, he doubted that would happen.
He stood in front of the doors and stared through, thinking. Maybe if he pulled out his mask, FRIDAY would let him into the basement? She wouldn’t recognize Peter, but she might recognize Spiderman. Maybe. Probably. Right?
He realized he’d been blocking the doors for a good sixty seconds. The intern at the front desk was eyeing him like she was deciding whether or not to call him out on loitering. Whoops.
He pushed the doors open and headed to the elevators. As soon as he reached them, he halted abruptly. Two workers nearly crashed into them.
“I forgot about the key card,” he said aloud, staring at the little pad he had to tap in on to access the elevators. He was pretty sure they locked the stairwell doors, too.
He spun on his heel and walked outside. Right. There had to be a better way.
He briefly entertained the idea of breaking a window. He dismissed it almost immediately.
There was one other option, but the chances of running into Pepper and maybe even Morgan was a lot higher this way. He could literally just ask. That would be so much easier. He didn’t have to do it the convoluted way.
He did it the convoluted way. He would’ve been more cautious about pulling his mask out of his bag, but honestly, nobody ever paid attention. It was fine. Not like there was anybody left to protect with a secret identity anyway. He might as well start putting it on in public.
…That… was not a fun thought.
Anyway. Mask secured, he began to climb the side of the building. It would’ve been way easier to swing up, but his web shooters were on the fritz again, and he didn’t want to risk it. The cold wind whipped him right between the collar of his coat and where his mask ended. His pants were starting to border on threadbare, so that didn’t afford him much protection either.
Hopefully there’d be some money down there. He could use some new clothes. And also maybe food. All he had in his pantry was a cup of instant ramen and a half eaten container of protein powder.
Hm. That probably wasn’t helping with his depression. He’d have to get broccoli or something. It was the only good vegetable.
“Don’t mind me,” he muttered to himself as he climbed. “Just breaking and entering. No big deal.”
There was nobody else hanging off the side of the building to give him a weird look, so he didn’t feel too bad about talking to himself. If May were there, she’d call it depressing and tell him to go make friends. She wasn’t there. Talking to himself would have to do.
For all his paranoia, Tony’s balcony was never locked. He’d always said that if someone managed to get to the top of the tower without tripping anything, they’d earned an audience. Peter just had to hope Pepper carried on that tradition.
She must’ve. When he landed on the balcony, not only were the doors unlocked, but they were wide open. He crept closer, eyeing it suspiciously. Last time he’d dropped in from the balcony, Tony had taught him how to disable all the alarms before opening the door, but those wouldn’t be active, right? Not if it was already open.
It wasn’t like Pepper to leave the door open unattended. The likelihood of running into her increased tenfold. Still, he needed the equipment. The fact that he had to climb all the way up instead of swing was proof enough of it. He peeked through the glass doors and headed in.
No alarms immediately announced his presence. He was off to a good start.
Now all he had to do was get to the private elevator, the only one in the entire building that didn’t require verification, make it back down to the basement, somehow smuggle all his stuff out and scale down the building with everything in tow, then make it back to his apartment without getting followed. Easy.
He didn’t even make it halfway to the elevator.
The second he stepped out into the open, he felt the familiar tug of an extra sense telling him to duck. Against his better judgement, he didn’t.
A bagel hit him square in the face with a dull thonk. He picked it up off of the ground and inspected it. Huh. Not even toasted. Not one to waste food, he stuffed it into his bag before looking up at his assailant.
Pepper Potts stood there, staring at him. Neither of them spoke for a moment. She looked him up and down, taking in the mask, the worn clothes, the bag slung around his shoulder. She stared at him with a strange blend of suspicion and the look she might have given Morgan after skinning a knee.
Peter hated it. He hated how the flicker of recognition in her eyes would dim the second he took his mask off. He hated how he’d sell his soul for a small smile and a “Hey, Pete.”
He didn’t get either.
“I’m, um.” He broke the silence first. “Hi. Sorry to… barge in? I need. Uh. Webshooters, so…” He fiddled with the hem of his jacket and began to back away. “I’ll just come back lat— I’ll go, um— sorry to bother—”
“You and Tony were close,” Pepper interrupted. “Right?”
His throat was dry. When was the last time he drank water? “Y— Yeah. We were.” The words were heavier than they sounded, the effort of forcing them out threatening to close up his throat.
She nodded. “I thought so. I remember seeing you around. You have an office up in here, it’s got Spiderman prototypes in it still. The nameplate’s empty, though.” She frowned at him. “I remember you swinging in all of the time. Then it’s blank, like the second you stepped inside, you stopped existing. I remember you heading to the lab, and then you’re gone.” The words were slow and deliberate, like she’d given them more thought than she’d wanted to.
His chest was screaming that there was danger, but his senses denied it. He opened his mouth to stop her, change the subject, get her to forget about him again, but no sound came out.
“You’re in the will,” she said abruptly. “Well, no. There’s a blank space in the will. But I remember talking to Tony about it. The conversation is blank — so many of our conversations are, now, whenever the topic of Spiderman came up — but he said that you’d need all the help you could get.”
She glared at him, like the gaps in her memory were his fault. They were. He kept his mouth shut.
“I knew you,” she decided eventually. “I don’t know why I don’t anymore. I don’t know what happened. But, you know,” she stepped just a little closer, hand hovering like she wanted to rest it on his shoulder, “just because Tony’s gone doesn’t mean you’re not welcome here. He would’ve wanted that, I think, maybe if only in honor of whoever you were to us before.”
Peter couldn’t have replied even if he wanted to. He gave a short, brief nod.
“Your office is still yours. So long as you come here with your mask on, FRIDAY will give you access to pretty much anything,” Pepper told him. “Go get whatever you need from the storage, okay?”
Another nod. He rushed towards the elevator, desperate to be free of the conversation.
As the doors began to slide closed, Pepper called through them, “Don’t be a stranger. We’re on your side.”
The doors closed. He spent the rest of his time in the tower trying desperately not to think about anything at all. Leave it to Pepper to have put the gaps together. Her generosity was great, and he’d probably take her up on that office every once in a while out of necessity, but… he didn’t want to be in this place if he didn’t have to.
He’d move on. He was moving on. He was getting there.
Right?