Criminals don't need bikes.
Peter didn’t like to dwell on the past. His motto (based on Lewis’s motto from his dad’s favorite movie “Meet the Robinsons”—Times Magazine, pg 5.) was “keep moving forward.” Which is why, when the smell of burnt bacon and Mr. Ben’s and May’s laughing woke him up the next morning, he definitely didn’t think about past mornings with Uncle Obie and Mr. Beck. That would be an extremely unproductive start to his day, and, really, those thoughts didn’t matter. They were in the past. And the here-and-now was knocking quietly at his door, inviting him to eat like a real family (!) and he wasn’t going to mess this up, like he seemed to be prone to do all the past times he found himself near anything good.
“Peter, son, I know the smoke says otherwise, but we’d love to have you join us for breakfast this morning.” Mr. Ben’s voice sounded light, and Peter could hear May scolding him from the kitchen.
“Yes sir, coming, hold on!” He tumbled out of bed and promptly fell, the hand-stitched quilt that appeared out of nowhere last night, now wrapped around his legs. The door opened at the sound of the crash and from the floor, Peter watched as both Mr. Ben and May rushed in, the latter covered in biscuit flour and wearing daisy-patterned scrubs. May covered her mouth, hiding a smile, as Mr. Ben rushed to help him up.
“Up we go, slugger, there you are.” Peter’s cheeks burned and he stammered out an apology.
Ben’s eyes softened as he held Peter’s elbow gently and guided him out of the room. “Oh, no, don’t be embarrassed, this one’s the clumsiest human being to walk the earth.” May scoffed, but wore a smile. “You’ll fit right in here, trust me.” An unfamiliar warmth spread through his chest as the couple teased each other while walking him to the kitchen table.
May pushed a large plate in front of him. The eggs were runny in places and dry in others, but Peter happily chewed as he listened to the couple talk about their plans for the day.
“The hospital called this morning and I switched shifts with Rhonda—her niece had her baby finally—I’ll work the regular and then take her first six. Gray got the last six, and Mary guaranteed me Thanksgiving and Christmas this year.”
“Mary is a bi—,” Mr. Ben looked at Peter who was surreptitiously spitting eggshells into the napkin on his lap. He seemed to rethink exactly what Mary was, “— bitter old woman who never keeps her word. You better get it in writing, love.”
May rolled her eyes and heaped more eggs onto Peter’s plate. Mr. Ben handed him another napkin and winked.
“Anyway, dear , all that to say I’m not going to be back until eight tomorrow morning, so you boys don’t wait up.”
Peter looked up at that. “Oh, um, I…I probably need to be getting home, b…but thank you SO much for everything, really. I’m feeling so much better, May. I’ll get my bike and then I need to go back to work.”
“School, you mean.” Mr. Ben said evenly. He was exchanging some kind of unreadable look with May but neither seemed upset. Peter relaxed his shoulders—he hadn’t realized they were so tense. He nodded vigorously.
“Right. School, I mean.”
“Peter…” May started, but Mr. Ben held up a hand to stop whatever she had planned on saying. He took a bite of toast and made eye contact with Peter. (“Really, idiot? Did I say you could look me in the eyes? God, even your spineless father wasn’t as disrespectful as you at this age. Keep your fucking eyes on your fucking feet until I give you permission, Peter. You are not my equal. Know your fucking place.”) Peter looked down.
“Why don’t you take another day, son? It’s Friday—your school,” and Peter didn’t miss the way he threaded doubt into that word, “can miss that brain for one more day while it heals up, right? Plus, we never got in touch with your parents last night. Maybe I can take you home and explain what happened. They must be out of their minds with worry.”
Peter let his thoughts drift for a millisecond as he considered if his parents would be worried. (“It’s all for show, Peter. Imagine what the public would think if they realized Tony and Pepper really didn’t want you back. I mean, it’s been eight years. You don’t think Tony Stark—who has the best AI on the planet—would be able to find you in an instant if he really wanted to? Especially after all that shit went down with Stane. I mean, come on, dumbo, we live just a few miles away from where they found him.”)
“Pete?” Both Mr. Ben and May were looking at him in concern.
“Oh…yeah, totally worried. But actually…I um…lied. I’m sorry. I just didn’t want you to be mad and my…um…head was hurting, but they are out of town for a science conference, and they really didn’t want to go, you see, but since we just moved here, Dad needed to for the money, and I promised I could take care of myself—and they took my sister with them—and she’s a handful so I didn’t, um, I didn’t want them to worry, but they’ll be back tonight, so I probably need to be there tonight.”
Nailed it.
The couple looked skeptical, but Peter was saved from further questioning by an alarm ringing on May’s cellphone.
“Shit. I’m late. Listen honey, I know you and Ben can figure it out, but you’re welcome here any time. You are such a pleasure to have around, Peter. Go get your bike and maybe you can stop by for dinner with your folks tomorrow, okay?” Peter nodded as she kissed Ben’s cheek and then came around the table to ruffle Peter’s hair. His spine tingled at her touch and he tried his hardest to commit that feeling to memory for his next night in the library.
“So, Peter, what do you say we check out your bike after you finish getting ready for the day? I’ll meet you outside? I need to make a few calls. I think May left something on your bed for you, bud.” He gave Peter a soft smile and closed the front door behind him.
Peter allowed himself to sit at the empty table for a few more minutes, practicing the deep breathing exercise Ned taught him last year. He touched the Saint Peter medallion May had given him—it was now hanging from his neck, hidden by his thin t-shirt. May had washed his clothes last night, and they smelled like fresh pine. He picked himself up, thinking about a million things (what did Ned mean when he said he made a mistake?) and walked to the guest room Mr. Ben and May had let him stay in. A shoebox was on the bed with a note.
Peter—
I hope you don’t mind but I replaced your sneakers last night. I accidentally spilled some wine on your old ones and I would have hated for you to walk around in them. I’m such a klutz. ;) Ben and I loved having you—your room is here any time you need it. Take care of that head, kiddo, you only have one. —May
Peter swiped at his eyes, the tears gathering in them coming against his consent, and opened the box. The new shoes were just his size—red Converse with the tag still on them. He couldn’t remember a time when someone bought him new clothes—surely when he was a toddler, but his memories of before his uncle were spotty at best. The shoes he had been wearing were duct taped and a hole had rubbed through the sole, giving him huge blisters that kept breaking open from his six months traveling across the country. The fact that May not only noticed them, but fabricated a story to get him new ones, sent him spiraling down a cavern of thoughts he was best avoiding. He put them on eagerly, made the bed, and grabbed his backpack, anxious to get back to the streets and among bookshelves where he could think.
Mr. Ben clapped him on the back as he met him outside, guiding him down the street, towards the garage.
“I called Roy and he told me we’re just waiting on a front wheel shipment for your bike. What do you think about helping me out a bit this morning? It should be ready after lunch.” Peter nodded. Mr. Ben hummed thoughtfully as he glanced at his shoes. “You know, May’s been after me about hiring more help for the front desk. My files are a mess and Roy has been planning on taking a vacation for three years now. He usually handles the oil changes. I pay $15 an hour. You could come help after that school of yours gets out. You know, if your parents are okay with it. I can tell you’re a brilliant kid. Exactly what this neighborhood needs.”
Peter had heard enough concerns about his parents to last a lifetime, but puffed up at the compliment. His bike trip to the casino and a scorpion tattoo crossed his mind. Could it be that simple? He could return Mr. Gargan’s bike and let him know thanks, but no thanks, and maybe every now and then he could eat dinner with the Parkers and sure, it might set his timeline back a bit, but there were no odd bloodstains at Parker’s Auto and he had red Converse and he could still feel May’s hand on his hair and he was just so tired.
He smiled shyly at Mr. Ben. Future Peter could figure out how to keep up the lie about his family. And school. And several other things. But present Peter knew, without a doubt (maybe some doubts, okay, a lot of doubts, but hair ruffles, gosh darnit!), it was the right decision.
“Yeah.” His voice was soft. “Yeah, I’d like that actually.” He didn’t think about Mr. Beck or Uncle Obie or The Rules or anything else. He’d be perfect for the couple. And when he left for Italy, maybe he could find a way to repay their kindness.
Mr. Ben whooped as they walked into the shop. “Yes! I knew you were smart, kid. Now let’s bother Roy for a little bit.”
They fell into an easy back-and-forth. Mr. Ben teased both Mr. Roy and Peter indiscriminately, and Peter had not laughed as much in his whole entire life as he did that morning. They bought sandwiches at Delmar’s who apologized profusely for Murphy’s role in Peter’s accident. He even gave Peter a free push-pop from his freezer and Mr. Ben a free beer.
After lunch, the bike wheel arrived at the office and Mr. Roy showed him how to put it back on. Eventually, he found himself kicking back the stand and hopping on, taking lazy laps around the shop.
“Hey, Mr. Ben?”
“Just Ben, Pete. What’s up?”
“I need to return this to the person I borrowed it from. I was thinking about doing that now, and then coming back, if that’s okay?”
“Why don’t I drive you? We can duck out quicker and maybe grab some dinner? And you know you can still stay with us while your parents are out of town. No pressure, son.”
Here’s the deal. Peter wasn’t very smart. He knew this. And he knew that he was nothing but a curse to everyone who had the misfortune of talking to him. He didn’t let that get him down, obviously, the world was too big and bright to selfishly mope about one’s misfortune. But he knew these things and he knew that he should have agreed to meet up with Mr. Ben the next day. But they had had such a wonderful afternoon, the best of his life, and he seemed so excited to help, and red Converse, so Peter agreed.
Little did he know it would end up being the worst mistake of his life.
Meanwhile…
“May.”
“Hey Rosie, give me a minute, I’ve got to finish charting.” May had about four more hours left of one of the most hellish shifts in her recent memory—she glanced at her phone again. No texts still.
“May, honey, come here.” Her supervisor was standing by the computer terminal closest to the elevators. One of May’s favorite attendees was wringing his hands next to her, refusing to meet her eyes.
“What’s going on?”
“May, I need you to stay calm while I tell you this, please. About an hour ago, a John Doe was rushed to emergency surgery for a GSW to his spine causing a PSI. The bullet breached his spinal canal causing some complications. He’s still in surgery but they’ve stabilized him for now. Dr. Bowery is taking the lead on it.”
Blood rushed to her ears. She swayed, thinking through the implications of this news. She wasn’t working ICU tonight—she had Peds. Why would they be taking such care just to tell her about a John Doe?
“What are you saying?” She turned to the young man still not looking at her. “Phillip, what’s going on?”
“May, please…” Her heart must have exploded. There was no other explanation for the way it pounded against her chest as if it were trying to run away.
Her knees buckled.
“Christ Almighty, what are you saying?” She barely noticed the hands around her. Distantly, she heard the girl from room 6180 crying.
“May, that’s right, honey, just sit down. Head between your knees.”
“...Ben?” She choked out the question. She could barely make out the nod of confirmation as her eyes filled with tears. She gulped air but none seemed to come. She tried to stand against steady arms keeping her in the chair one of the CNAs must have rolled over to them.
“LET ME SEE MY HUSBAND. DAMN IT. Get out of my way so help me God.” She didn’t recognize her voice.
Rosie was rubbing her back while Phillip (God, he was only twenty-four, a baby, really.) was kneeling in front of her. “There we go, breathe, May. Dr. Bowery promised to page us as soon as he’s out. Ben’s strong, yeah? It’ll be okay.”
It was a poor promise. She had seen those recoveries. She had worked those recoveries.
She drifted.
When she came up for air again, she was in the break room. Someone had wrapped her in a blanket, and a cup of tea sat in front of her.
Rosie looked up from the laptop she had brought in. “There we go, hon. Drink something. Don’t think I don’t know you skipped your lunch. We’ve talked about that.”
“What happened, Rose?”
“Drink, May. The detective wants to talk to you whenever you’re ready. I told them to fuck off—he left his number.” She pushed one of the hospital’s information cards towards her with a number scrawled on the back. “I don’t know much. I can try to find out more. Apparently a Roy is in the ICU waiting room? He asked to see you too. I figured you needed a second.”
May nodded, picking at a piece of lint.
“There’s something else, too. I didn’t want you to find out from the news.”
May looked up surprised. They didn’t live in the worst neighborhood in Queens, but usually shootings were tacked on at the last segment, not really newsworthy. She scoffed internally. Not really newsworthy as if it didn’t completely implode her world.
“What happened? Please.”
“There was a fire at the garage.” Rosie was always a no-nonsense person, but this band-aid felt particularly painful. May choked.
“What?”
“A fire. It burned down.” May heard the words but didn’t understand them. She ignored them. She stared at her lap, tearing at the paper with the detective’s number. She flipped the card around to read the information, most likely about vaccinations or HIV.
A familiar face stared back at her.
Her face drained of color and she stared dumbly at the words. They didn’t make sense in her head. Her voice came out hysterical enough that Rosie started.
“What is this?”
“Those new Stark cards they passed out to the hospitals—remember he had that new algorithm with the updated AI-picture of what Peter Stark would look like? It was all the news was reporting for a while. The poor things. The foundation dropped them off today. I’m supposed to pass them out on each floor.”
Did she have two hearts? The other one exploded, so why was her chest still beating so hard?
“May?”
Peter Stark.
Peter.
The AI rendering had him with fuller cheeks, shorter hair, and no glasses, but it was uncanny. May’s hands were shaking. She heard herself ask her confused co-worker for her cell phone. She distantly heard herself ask for a moment alone. The door softly closed behind her.
Ring.
May realized she had no clue what had happened to them. A fire? Was Peter there? One John Doe— what happened ?
Ring.
She thought about his tangled curls and brown eyes looking so grateful for the burned breakfast she served him that morning.
“Good evening, you have reached the Peter Stark hotline. May I have your name and would you like to tell me where you’re calling from?”
The red Converse were on sale at Target—she went at 10 PM after Peter had fallen asleep. She wondered if they were okay. If the feet wearing them were okay.
“Hello? Can I help you?”
“Yes, yes, sorry.” May cleared her throat. “My name is May Parker and I have information on Peter Stark. I am at the New York-Presbyterian Hospital and it’s urgent.”
“Hold for one moment, please.”
May heard a click and then a short dial-tone.
“Hello, this is Col. James Rhodes. Who is this?”
May’s sniffed. Rosie stuck her head in the door after a short knock. He’s out , she mouthed.
“Yes, Colonel. My name is May Parker and I need to talk with you right away. My husband just got out of surgery, though, and I need to go. I’ll call you back.”
She hung up quickly, mind and heart torn in two. The phone rang back immediately. May thrust it in Rosie’s hands as she rattled off the room number.
“Text our location and room to the number that’s calling.”
She jumped on the staff elevator and rode down to ICU, only bursting into tears after the doors closed.