Chapter Text
“Sorry, Pete, I'm stuck in meetings till like nine,” Tony said over the phone, it was a familiar line by now. Peter had been spending less and less time at the tower, Mister Stark said it wasn't anything he had done, however, Peter wasn't too sure. Had he finally gotten on their nerves? Or did they finally realize he was still a kid and wasn't worth keeping around? Whatever it was, it had left Peter alone and feeling rather left out.
“It’s fine, Mister Stark! I have a bunch of homework anyway, Mrs. Walker just assigned this huge essay due next week. I've got to read like a whole book by the end of the week!” Peter said with faux cheerfulness, Mister Stark didn't notice. He had gotten pretty good at the whole ‘I'm doing fine! Everything's fine!’ thing lately. Mister Stark said something about being safe on patrol and good luck on the essay before hanging up. “Yeah, bye, Mister-” The phone beeped as the call disconnected, “Stark…” Peters' voice trailed off, rather pitifully, may he add.
As he walked down the street, the hair on the back of his neck stood up, and goosebumps ran down his arms. Peter froze, just briefly before glancing around and ducking into a nearby alleyway. Checking around once more before deeming it thoroughly empty and tugging out his suit, which was carefully folded in the back pocket of his backpack. Peter quickly hid behind a dumpster and very hastily pulled on the spider-suit, stuffing his regular clothes in the pocket his suit used to occupy. He glanced around, his eyes finding a small alcove behind the dumpster and the wall.
‘Should be secure enough, should probably web it in there though.’ Peter thought as he did just that, he briefly remembered the last time he didn't web his backpack in its hiding spot and some kids had taken it. It had taken him forever to find it, and when he did, the kids had tried fighting him, as Spider-Man may he added, they hadn't put up too much of a fight, considering he had enhanced abilities and all, but it had been a pain.
Peter blinked before realizing he was just standing in the alley. He quickly shook his head and tugged on his mask before climbing up the brick wall onto the roof of one of the two buildings the alley was formed by. A tattoo parlor by the sounds coming from inside. Peter glanced around, eventually hearing what his Spider-senses had alerted too earlier: someone was screaming in an alley about a block away. Jumping off the building, he swung towards the disturbance, coming to land on the roof nearby, peering into the mostly empty parking lot, he quickly spotted a woman being roughly tugged towards a car; she had a bruise on her other wrist. The man tugging her along reeked of cheap booze and bad decisions.
Peter jumped down from the roof, landing silently on the ground. “Most guys don't have to take their dates kicking and screaming, ya-know!” Peter said loudly, and the man spun around. “Go'way spider-guy!” The man slurred, tugging the woman closer. She looked scared; her heart was pounding, and her breathing was ragged.
“Do you wanna go home with him, ma'am?” Peter asked, putting his hands on his hips as he eyed the man, keeping a lookout for any weapons. His spider-sense wasn't going too crazy, so he assumed the man was unarmed. The woman quickly shook her head, “N-No, I don't wanna go with him-” The woman choked out, she sounded seconds away from crying. That was all Peter needed to hear, though; he stepped forward. “Come on, man, let her go,” Peter said, stepping forward once more. “No! She's my girlfriend- I can do wha’ I want!” The man slurred. Peter's brows furrowed under the mask. He never understood men who thought that way; it didn't make any sense. “Sorry, man, but either you let her go and we all walk away tonight, or I'm gonna have to be a bit more forceful.” Peter said, trying in vain to make his voice deeper to try and sound scarier. The man thought for a moment, eyeing the spider emblem on Peter's chest before letting the woman go, shoving her towards Peter. “Ugly ass bitch-” He slurred before stumbling off. The woman quickly got out of the man's way, giving Peter a grateful look, “T-Thank you, Sp-Spider-Man- I should- I should head home.” The woman stammered, wrapping her arms around her middle. “I can walk you home, make sure no one bugs ya?” Peter offers, the woman looks hesitant at first before nodding gratefully.
A few hours later, Peter quietly climbs through his bedroom window. He slowly strips himself out of his suit, folding it and stashing it under his bed. ‘I should really wash this thing…’ he thinks as he catches a whiff of the rather ripe scent coming off his suit. It was a mix of sweat and blood. Sighing, he inwardly hopes he hadn't smelled like that the whole patrol. It hadn't been a particularly grueling patrol anyway. He helped that woman with the drunk boyfriend, found and returned a lost cat named ‘Mr. Sprinkles, and even stopped a burglary of a store run by this nice old man. It had been a good patrol, so why, why would he be feeling so… empty? He should be happy no one died in front of him; he should be happy; he was always happy. He was sick of being happy.
He felt exhausted as he went through the motions of getting ready for bed, showering, brushing his teeth, and changing into his pajamas. It was only after lying in his bed did he realized he hadn't eaten dinner. He thought about it for a moment before deciding it seemed like too much work, so he settled to just close his eyes. May had been working nights for a while, she said she just enjoyed them, but Peter knew it was because they paid better than working day shifts.
He was running, running as fast and as hard as he could. Yet he wasn't really going anywhere. Glancing behind him, his heart beat faster, he still wasn't going anywhere, why wasn't he going anywhere! Peter screamed as the ground seemed to swallow him whole. He blinked, and everything was bright and disorienting. He could hear Mr. Stark's voice. ‘Peter! You're useless! I wish I had never brought you to Germany.’ Mister Stark scoffed. Then it was Uncle Ben, lying lifeless, his eyes blank and unseeing, his face pale and loosing, and color and life they had. Yet he was yelling that he blamed Peter, that it was his fault he died.
Peter jerked awake, gasping for air. He glanced around wildly before realizing he was in his room. It was a nightmare. It was the same nightmare he had been having for weeks now. He was always running from something, then someone would be saying how much of a disappointment he was. The nightmare was always concluded with Uncle Ben. It was always Uncle Ben's lifeless eyes and the blood dribbling out of his mouth as he uttered the truth. That it was Peter's fault that he had died.
Peter gasped. He couldn't breathe; everything was too much. He could hear the couple in the apartment below him arguing about who had to get up to make coffee, he could hear a cat a block away yowling, he could see the fibers in his carpet, and he could feel every beat of his heart and the blood flowing through him, he could hear it swishing around in his veins, he could feel the blood slushing around inside him.
Peter gasped out a sob; this seemed to break the dam, and very quickly he was sobbing uncontrollably, gasping for air. “I-Im sorry- I-Im so sorry-” He sobbed out to no one in particular. His hands clawed desperately at his chest.
It took an hour for his sobs to fade out into small sniffles. ‘How pathetic, I'm a kid who goes to the best school in the state, I have superpowers, and a great life.’ Peter thought hollowly. He hesitates before reaching for his phone and calls Mister Stark. Ring Ring Ring. He sniffles and waits for Mister Stark to answer. Mister Stark’s voice filters in “Hello, can't come to the phone right now. Call back later, or don't.” It was Mister Stark’s voicemail. He had gone to voicemail. Taking a deep breath, Peter pushed himself up from beneath the covers and scanned the room. It was just the same as it had been… five minutes ago, when his senses had been jacked to the max input.
An hour later, Peter had calmed down enough to notice the distinct lack of May’s breathing or movement within the apartment. ‘She must be at work. She’s been working a lot more lately.’ Peter thought to himself as he stood up on shaky legs. He glanced down at himself and changed out of his pajamas before tugging on a pair of jeans that were fraying at the knees and a Midtown sweatshirt. He found a pair of socks on the floor. Who cares that they weren’t exactly clean? He hadn’t had a chance to do laundry yet; looking out for the little guys on patrol took priority anyway. Sighing to himself, he tosses his dirty pajamas into his laundry basket and walks out of his room.