Chapter Text
Turning the key three times in the lock of the old, rotting door, then pushing it with his shoulder and pressing his foot against the designated points was a ritual Peter had to go through to get inside his apartment. The tiny shoebox on the outskirts of Queens, New York, might have seemed stuffy or claustrophobic, but to the boy, it was his entire world. His only oasis, where he could count on at least a little peace and quiet. No one bothered him, because no one wanted to venture into such a neglected ruin.
The dangerous neighborhood also worked in his favor. It was better than an alarm system for one simple reason. No one robbed their own. After a whole day of robbing rich neighborhoods, some random thug, probably one in every four tenants, had to have somewhere to come back to.
Peter tossed his keys onto the dresser standing by the entrance and turned around to lock the door. Then he switched on the light and walked deeper into the only room in the studio apartment.
“How’s the situation?” he asked aloud, addressing the artificial intelligence he had built himself.
“A few minor crimes,” Karen answered obediently. “The police will handle each of them.”
“The city that never sleeps, huh?” he muttered under his breath, walking over to the refrigerator, whose only contents were the light. “Inform me if there’s anything worth paying attention to.”
He wrinkled his nose when he also found nothing to eat in the kitchen cabinet. He could have sworn that just a week ago he had hidden a pack of mint candies there for a rainy day. Now, he found nothing. He kept searching until he found a few ladyfingers, which he immediately shoved into his mouth despite their hard texture.
Sighing heavily, he knew he would have to go outside to get something more substantial to eat. Although he had only just come back from work, specifically, washing dishes at a shady restaurant with no name, and would have liked to go to sleep, he would have to go out. He wouldn’t be able to fall asleep hungry anyway.
For the time being, however, he decided to do his homework. Because yes, of course he was still a high school student, and working and fighting crime apparently weren’t enough to overwhelm him. Although he had thought about dropping out of school many times, getting a proper education was his only chance to pull himself out of rock bottom. He could become a scientist, or, looking at it more realistically, at least go to college and not have to prove his worth to anyone. For some reason, people respected education and academic titles more than the kind of person someone was. So he threw his backpack onto the creaking floorboards beside the couch and sat down on its edge, unpacking his notebooks and a borrowed pen.
Because of his exhaustion, it was harder for him to think, so getting through math, biology, and English took him longer than it had barely six months ago, when he was still a carefree kid. Back then, he would have finished in ten minutes, then turned on some mindless comedy show and started cooking dinner for Aunt May, who would be coming home from work. She would hug him in greeting, ask him how his day had gone, and whether he wasn’t overdoing it with being Spider-Man. Peter smiled at the thought. She had always cared about him.
He had cared too little, because he had failed to protect his aunt. Guilt ate away at him from the inside every single day. He sniffled, realizing that ever since Aunt May had died in front of his eyes, no one had hugged him. He looked up, warding off the tears by blinking rapidly. He wished he could go back to that moment for just one second. Go back to the carefree days. To a time when he wasn’t forced to be strong.
“An attempted break-in at an ATM has been detected two blocks from here,” Karen said, without commenting on his moment of weakness. After all, there had been so many of them that the AI had grown accustomed to his behavior.
“Perfect.” As he shoved his notebooks into his backpack, Peter pulled out the brightly colored Spider-Man suit. His better version of himself. The valuable version of himself.
Quickly stripping off his clothes, Peter slipped into the suit and put on the mask. He opened the window and stepped onto the fire escape. He closed the window from the outside and shot a web at the building across from him. He smiled when he felt the calming rush of wind against the spandex. He swung his legs forward, picking up speed. Now he felt like himself. He felt alive.
It didn’t take long for him to reach the scene, because the ATM being robbed was close to his apartment. From above, he spotted a robber with a crowbar, clumsily trying to pry open the ATM’s metal casing. When he landed on the ground, the man still hadn’t noticed his presence.
“What, the PIN isn’t working?” Peter called loudly, grinning with satisfaction beneath his mask. “Try a little higher, because, dude, you’re making a fool of yourself.”
He glanced down at his wrists and, after making sure he had enough web fluid, whistled. Only then did the man in the balaclava glance in his direction, his green eyes widening to the size of small saucers when he saw who he had the misfortune of running into that night. Or rather, who had taken an interest in him.
“I’m going to have to ask you to put that crowbar down before someone gets hurt.”
He automatically fired a web when the thug lunged at him. The weapon was safely pinned to the wall of the building, so now Peter was avoiding punches from a bare fist.
“If you stop now, I’ll let you walk away without any conseq... ugh.” His cheek burned when he was struck. He tasted blood in his mouth, and his head rang. “Not cool, man.”
“Shut up already,” the attacker growled, trying to hit him in the kidney, but Peter shook off the shock quickly enough to lean backward and avoid the blow.
“But I’m having such a nice conversation,” Peter kept his cheerful tone with a hint of amusement, although he had stopped smiling a long time ago.
His brows were furrowed, his gaze focused, his mind deep in thought. He shouldn’t have gotten hit at all. He didn’t know what was happening to him. He was sloppier than usual and slower. Maybe he wasn’t eating enough, or sleeping enough? He was exhausted and earning so little that it was only enough to cover half of the food his accelerated metabolism required. But it had never affected his fighting before. He was thinner, bonier, but until now, it hadn’t seemed to be a problem. He made a mental note to steal some food from a shelter for the poor.
Yes, paradoxically, Spider-Man had to steal. But that was only because of a stupid policy that did not provide meals to children without an adult present. The system assumed that children weren’t going hungry. Whoever had established that law lacked imagination or must have hated people. One could assume that minors belonged in foster homes, but refusing them food when that wasn’t the case was another form of cruelty.
Although hand-to-hand combat usually allowed Peter to release his frustration and the anger boiling inside him, today he had no desire for more injuries. His cheek already needed tending to, and bandages and plasters weren’t in his budget today. He had to end the fight as quickly as possible. He used his webs to do it.
The first shot at the man’s ankle caught him off guard and stopped him in his tracks. The second tied his hands to his torso, and the third gagged him. With three well-placed shots, Peter ended the job and reached into the struggling man’s pocket. He easily pulled out his phone and used it to call the police so they could come pick up the thief. He had done everything for them, so it would be nice if they at least took him away before the webs dissolved.
Waving goodbye to him, Peter shot a web at the roof of a tall building and hurried on, asking his artificial intelligence - Karen, to locate another crime. In the meantime, his legs, or rather his arms, led him to Mr. Delmar’s store. He was a kind-hearted man who always fed both versions of him for free. Both Peter and Spider-Man. Peter suspected that the man knew they were the same person, but he had never admitted it. He protected his secret, but whenever Peter came in without his mask, he watched his face with a vigilant gaze.
When Peter stepped through the doorway of the store, a wave of warmth hit him. It wasn’t particularly cold outside, but the store was heated enough for the temperature to be pleasant. Peter looked up at Mr. Delmar standing behind the counter and waved to him in greeting.
“Your friendly neighborhood Spider-Man! Same as usual today?” Peter nervously bit his lip, and the smile slipped from his face. He felt bad about taking advantage of the man’s kindness. He came here often enough that the store owner knew his order by heart. And the fact that he never paid only made him realize that Mr. Delmar was losing money because of him, even though he had his own family to support. “Something wrong?” The voice pulled Peter out of his thoughts. “You’re very quiet today.”
“Oh, I was just wondering what I felt like having,” Peter lied, awkwardly rubbing the back of his neck. “But I think I’ll go with the classic. Your sandwiches are the best.”
The man blushed and waved his hand, brushing the compliment away. He bent down beneath the counter, where he kept wrapping paper for sandwiches, and began preparing a meal for the embarrassed boy shifting from one foot to the other. One day, Peter would repay the man - he promised himself. If he ever found himself in a better financial situation, he would pay back his entire debt. With interest.
“Here you go.” The man handed him a long sandwich wrapped in decorative paper. “Enjoy.”
“Mr. Delmar, I don’t even know how to thank you.” He reached into the pocket on his arm, searching for coins he already knew he wouldn’t find.
He kept all his savings in a small metal lunchbox beneath a loose floorboard. He spent everything on rent and the cheapest but nutritious food. He didn’t carry it around with him as Spider-Man.
“Don’t be silly.” Mr. Delmar good-naturedly rolled his eyes, gently pushing him out of the store. “It’s a citizen’s duty to take care of our friendly neighborhood hero.”
Peter nodded, quietly thanking him, and disappeared into thin air as soon as he turned the corner.
The rest of the night passed peacefully. He helped a young girl get home safely from a party while she was drunk and rescued a lost kitten from a tree. Small, but equally important, acts earned him grateful smiles and an inner sense of fulfillment.
He returned home at two in the morning, climbing the fire escape and entering through the window. He took a quick shower and finished his homework. He counted in his head and wrote down the answers while his hands bandaged his sore cheek in front of the mirror. He used up the last of his disinfectant and one of his two large bandages. He sighed as he wrote a shopping list on the paper beside his calculations, consisting of medical supplies and food.
By the time he went to bed, it was three in the morning, which left him four hours of sleep before he would have to get up for school. That night, as Peter fell asleep with a satisfied smile on his lips, he did not yet know that it would be his last outing as Spider-Man when no one bothered him. If he had known what was coming next, he would not have closed his eyes that night.