Chapter 5
Peter has grown up in a financially-tight household ever since his parents died and he was handed off to his father's brother and his wife. Unlike Richard and Mary Parker, Uncle Ben and Aunt May weren't scientists with PhDs and stable jobs under their belts. They tried, though. Uncle Ben worked hard as a beat cop and tried to get promoted only to watch his fellow officers around him getting the recognition and pay raises they deserved. Aunt May—she tried, too. She worked long, hard hours at the hospital.
After Uncle Ben died, things only got tighter. The fridge was a little more empty, their cabinets more bare. Peter was thirteen, and he offered to try to find a way to make more money—sell his toys, now some old people's lawns—but Aunt May refused. She assured him everything was going to be okay, that he shouldn't worry about those kinds of adult responsibilities. So, Aunt May picked up more shifts. They limited their shower time to under six minutes each. Eventually Aunt May was promoted, so he was able to buy some new school clothes for his freshman year at Midtown High. She still got her clothes at Goodwill, though, and he still has to duct tape his worn-out sneakers.
Peter knows how to deal with having a light wallet.
What he doesn't know how to deal with, however, is having an empty wallet. Or, in his case, not even having a wallet.
It feels odd waking up on a Wednesday morning in late August and not going to school. Well, it feels weird after he finds out that it's a Wednesday in late August in a stack of newspapers for sale on the street.
Peter's just walking around, the occasional passerby giving him an odd look at his attire, trying to come up with a way to find a change of clothes. He has no money and no closet, and he refuses to steal.
That leads him to a dumpster. There are some duplexes that line the street, so surely someone has thrown out some clothes recently, right?
For someone who died and then stopped existing only to be brought back three months later, he has a lot of hope.
In the end, that hope pays off.
Peter's digging through his third dumpster when he spots fabric. Quickly plucking the banana peel and square of cardboard out of the way, he pulls the material out and holds it up.
It's an old sweatshirt for Hostos Community College. Still holding it out, Peter peers back into the garbage, partially hoping to see a pair of pants as well. When he just sees more trash, he turns back to the sweatshirt and is just happy that he found this.
He retreats into a closed-off alley and slips it on over the suit. It hangs loosely on his frame—the sleeves going over his palms and the bottom hem hanging down to his thigh—but it's better than nothing and only has a hint of a smokey smell. All he needs to do now is find some pants.
His stomach grumbles.
Okay, maybe find some breakfast first. Then pants.
Food is something he's been trying to hold back on thinking about. With his enhanced metabolism, he doesn't know what he's going to do. He needs to eat, like, 5000 calories a day to maintain his current weight and lean, muscular figure. There's no doubt in his mind that he's going to eventually lose some pounds.
Hopefully it doesn't get too bad, though. There must be nice people out here who would recognize him as a starving kid and give him something to eat, right? At least until he manages to land a job of some sort to start paying for food?
Just like with the clothes, Peter vows not to steal any food.
Spider-Man can't do that—Peter Parker can't do that.
So, after pocketing the mask in the sweatshirt pocket and running his hand through his hair, Peter sets off towards the busier streets.
At first, Peter plans to just go up to vendors and restaurant employees to ask if they've got any food that is expired or messed-up orders they were going to throw out.
The first place Peter tries is a Mexican restaurant. A bell over the door jingles as he walks in. The man behind the counter—a plump man with a sweaty forehead and big ears—looks Peter up and down, most likely taking note of his sweatshirt over what probably looks like red and blue leggings.
Peter offers the man a smile as he approaches the front desk. "Hi, I was wondering if there was any food you guys were going to throw out soon? Like, expired or burnt food, or messed-up orders?"
A look passes over the man's face and he scoffs. Shaking his head, he says, "No free food."
"Oh. Okay." Peter smiles awkwardly, trying to be polite, but then his stomach makes a loud grumble that sends a sharp pain through his abdomen. How long has it been since he's last eaten anything? It must've been at least an hour before Death showed up three months ago. "A-Are you sure? I mean, if you're just going to throw it away, where's the harm in—"
"I said no," the man snaps. He shoos Peter towards the door. "Leave my restaurant before I call the cops."
"Yes sir, sorry," he sheepishly babbles before turning and rushing to the door.
He hears the man mutter something about "lazy-ass kids" on his way out.
The next restaurant isn't nearly as harsh, but still turns him down. The woman working the front gives him a sympathetic smile as she tells him that it's against their policy, but there are some cheaper items on their menu if he had any money to sit down and order.
If he had any money, he wouldn't be going around asking for scraps. The more and more he asks, the more and more his hope dwindles.
His pride takes a nose dive when he passes by a bakery shop and his nose picks up the scent of pastries in their dumpster. He stands there, idle, like he's actually thinking about going through their trash to get food.
No, he tells himself, I'm not stooping to that level.
His lurching stomach says otherwise. With a longing look, Peter rips his gaze from the dumpster and forces himself to keep walking.
Not even ten minutes after walking past that donut shop and promising himself that he wouldn't dig through the trash for sustenance, he breaks.
It's humiliating, really. His cheeks are red hot as he looks over his shoulders before shuffling up to the trash bin in an alley right outside the back door of a sandwich shop.
Just this once, he promises. Just to hold me over until I can find a better source of food.
He leans over the lip of the bin and pilfers through its smelly contents. There's plastic, shredded lettuce, empty bags, smears of mayonnaise, and some used tissues and paper towels. After pushing aside a some greasy napkins, his eyes land on a half-eaten top of a sub bun.
He starts to reach for it, but before he can grab it, the side door slams open. Peter jolts back, wide-eyed and caught red-handed.
"Hey, get outta 'ere ya gutter punk!" a middle-aged man with a stained apron shouts, brandishing a hand towel like a weapon.
Peter nearly trips over his feet to run away.
As soon as he's out of the alley and down the street, his ears burn bright red as the shame and embarrassment sinks in.
Gosh, what would Aunt May think? What would Ned, or Mr. Stark think?
They'd be so ashamed of his actions, he's sure.
But he's still hungry.
He hasn't eaten in over a day, and his stomach is revolting. He can't keep it up much longer, not with his crazy metabolism. He needs food. He needs it now.
His stomach cramps painfully and he clenches the front of his sweatshirt in a fist.
Peter's gone without food for this long before, but that was before he got bit by that spider. Now, he usually eats three meals a day with some snacks scattered between. Aunt May knows that Peter has to eat more than a normal teenager, and although she doesn't know the extent of it, she still makes sure goes to bed with a full stomach. And even though Mr. Stark doesn't know about his enhanced metabolism at all, he still supplies him with protein bars after each mission. Peter knows how it feels to be hungry.
But not like this.
Everything that's been building up—dying, seeing people mourn his death, fighting against a terrifying cosmic entity, not existing for three months, and coming back with absolutely nothing and no one—finally spills over.
Tears burn behind his eyes as he races to find someplace to hide his shame and sadness. He barely manages to keep the tears at bay long enough to duck out of sight of everyone walking the streets behind a tall brick building. As soon as he's alone, the dam bursts and he slides to the ground, silent sobs racking through his aching body.
He doesn't care that he's on the germ-infested ground of New York, he curls up into a ball and cradles his stomach. Sharp jabs of pain shoot through his abdomen and he cries harder.
He's not crying just because he's hungry. The weight of everything crashes over him like a wave and pulls him further out to sea where his feet can't touch the ground. He's drowning in grief of a life that no longer is. He's grieving Aunt May, Ned, Mr. Stark, school, homework, Academic Decathlon, the apartment, pasta dinners, take out Tuesdays, Clint, Natasha, Steve, Sam, Bucky, normalcy.
Everything's been stolen away from him like someone ripped the rug out from under his feet and he's falling, falling, falling, falling.
"I'm sorry," he whispers, chest heaving for air as his breaths come in short and shallow. "I'm sorry, I don't . . . I don't know what to do."
He's not sure who he's apologizing to. Maybe Aunt May, because without him she's all alone. Or Death, Eternity, and Infinity, who worked hard to bring him back only to have him not even know how to survive after a full day. Maybe to God, because why else would this be happening to him if he hadn't majorly screwed up somewhere along the way?
That's not fair. He didn't screw up—well, yes, he has definitely screwed up many times before—but that's not why he's in this position. Sure, Death is the one who brought him into her little realm thing in the first place, and Eternity didn't bring him back to life before helping Death out like planned, but it all comes down to Peter. He is the one who jumped in front of Oblivion's line of fire. No matter who brought him into the situation, it was ultimately his decision.
He chose this life, so now he has to survive it. If that means he has to dig up an old McDonald's burger from the trash and sleep in dirty alleys, then so be it.
Eternity, Infinity, and Death brought him back for a reason. And, hey, he still has the suit, mask and all. Maybe New York could use a little re-introduction to Spider-Man, only this time he'd be a full-time superhero that's not confined to after-school hours and curfews.
Peter moves to push himself back up to stand, but falls back down to the ground and clutches his middle with a wince as his stomach painfully protests.
Right. He'll re-introduce Spider-Man after a garbage-sponsored meal.
Blowing out his cheeks as he slowly rises to sit with his back against the building, Peter mutters, "Holy guacamole, I could eat the entire sheep population of New Zealand."
At this point, it doesn't even feel like an exaggeration.
He's doubled over as he stumbles from trash can to trashcan. If he finds any food, it's not salvageable. Just a bunch of chicken wing bones, wrappers, and crumbs.
It isn't until he throws himself over the lip of a big, green dumpster and basically swims in it like an infinity pool that he strikes gold in the form of a dented Krispy Kreme box. His fingers shake as he hurries to open it up.
There's two glazed donuts. Relief floods over him.
"Score," he murmurs, reaching up and closing one of the lids before jumping up to sit on it as his feet dangle into the trash below. With the box on his lap, he digs in, eyes fluttering closed and a deep breath exhaling through his nostrils as he takes the first bite.
It's stale. It's hard and kind of gross and the glaze flakes off and sticks to his lips, but it's so good. His stomach greedily vacuums both donuts like a black hole. It doesn't make much of a dent in his hunger, but the monster in his stomach is momentarily satisfied.
Now that he doesn't feel like he's going to keel over any second from starvation, he becomes acutely aware of his next issue: he's thirsty.
Great.
Since when is having a body so high maintenance? When he was "dead," he didn't have to eat or drink or even use the bathroom.
Fortunately for Peter, water is much easier to come by than food. All he has to do is walk in the front door of Taco Bell and head straight for the bathrooms. The water from the sink leaves a coppery taste on his tongue when he straightens from holding his mouth under the tap, but it's not going to kill him. Probably. Hopefully.
He sends the sink a wary gaze and turns it on again. The water that sprays out only has a slight tint of brown to it.
Yeah, he'll be fine.
On his way out of the dingy Taco Bell, Peter overhears a woman asking her wife for the time. When she replies that it's a quarter past three, Peter's mind automatically goes to Oh, school's out.
As soon as the thought comes, the lightness in his mood from finding a water source and those two glorious donuts dims. His pace slows, but before the person he hears walking behind him can run into his back, he picks up his pace again and pushes open the door and steps out into the warm August afternoon.
School's out. That shouldn't really mean anything to him, not anymore. It's not like he goes to school anymore.
But Ned does.
If it's 3:15, then if Peter hurries over to Midtown Tech, he could probably catch Ned before he gets on the bus and . . . What? Then what, he would actually talk to him? He wouldn't know who he was!
But maybe he doesn't have to talk to him. He could just, like, watch. To make sure that he's okay. Midtown's a pretty big school, maybe he could jump on the bus and sit next to Ned, re-introduce himself like how he's going to with Spider-Man.
With a frown, Peter looks down at himself. He still hasn't gotten around to finding some pants to pull over the bottom of the suit, or shoes for that matter. Plus, he's wearing a stained community college sweatshirt. No way would the bus driver let him get on.
Fine, then. Peter will just head over to make sure Ned is doing okay. He won't say anything, won't approach him, nothing.
It's fine.
Without another moment's hesitation, Peter starts towards Midtown Tech. It gets a little hot with the sweatshirt over top the suit and all, but it's not too bad. All it does is make him aware of the fact that he could use a shower. Sleeping on the street, dumpster diving, and sweating will do that to a teenage boy. Or anyone, really.
Peter arrives near the high school's campus just as a sea of students and raging hormones file out of the front doors. He tries to act inconspicuous, shoving his hands in his sweatshirt pocket and running the pad of his thumb over the mask, leaning against the city bus stop sign.
The sign shifts against his weight, so Peter awkwardly shuffles and sits on the bench. Casting a glance over his shoulder towards the front of the school, he tries to locate Ned. His eyes scan a bunch of blondes, red-heads, and brunettes, but he can't find his best friend.
Or, old best friend. Used-to-be best friend. Are they ex-best friends if they didn't have a falling out, one of them just forgot about the other's entire existence?
Peter gives up the facade of casual and just turns his whole body around to survey his old classmates. He recognizes a few faces—Michelle Jones, Brad Davis, Flash Thompson, Abe Attah—but when he can't find the face of Ned Leeds as the crowd thins, he sighs and starts to turn away.
As he's looking away, he catches a familiar figure from the corner of his eye and quickly returns his gaze. His chest tightness.
There, standing by himself as he waits for the school bus, is Ned Leeds.
He looks the same. It looks like he still does his hair exactly like how he did it three months ago when Peter was still in his life, and he dresses the same, too: same clean sneakers with the same dark jeans and the same dark blue hoodie over the same Star Wars shirt. The only thing that strikes Peter as different is how lonely he seems. Students are passing by, talking to their friends, laughing and texting and playfully rolling their eyes. Ned is in the middle of it all, yet he is standing by himself, looking down at the ground.
His obvious loneliness pulls Peter up to his feet, but before he can make a move to do something as stupid as walk over to him, a blonde girl—Betty Brant, the pretty blonde girl in charge of the school's video announcements club—steps up to him. Peter freezes and watches with a furrowed brow as Betty smiles and talks to him. Ned smiles, too, and says something back. Peter wishes his enhanced hearing could pick up their voices over the space between them and all the noises of the city.
His confusion only grows as he watches Ned and Betty get on the bus after it pulls up together.
Betty Brant has never approached Ned before. No one, other than Peter and sometimes Michelle, ever has. It's not that Peter thinks lowly of his friend—he was honestly always confused why everyone didn't want to be his friend because he's funny, nice, and amazing company—it's just that the both of them have been stuck on the bottom of the social ladder. Girls like Betty don't just walk up to them.
They didn't, at least.
Despite trying to convince himself this is a good thing, that Ned isn't all alone, he can't help the pit in his heart grow. A selfish part of him wanted to see Ned be lonely. He wanted to see that his life had somewhat of an impact on him.
Apparently he's fine. Which is good.
This is good, he tells himself like a mantra. This is a good thing. Ned deserves friends.
Peter sniffs and turns. He looks back over his shoulder a few times, but forces himself to keep moving forward.
Ned has clearly moved on. (Not that he actually had something to move on from.) With a hint of self-pity, Peter wonders how everyone else is doing without him.
He makes a mental list of people to check up on. To make sure they're doing well, of course, not to rub it in his own face how good everyone's lives are without him. With Ned off the list, all who remain are Aunt May and the Avengers. Considering he's in Midtown, it'd make sense to go to the Avengers tower first, then stop by Aunt May's.
Obviously, he can't just waltz into the Avengers tower like he owns the place. Requesting an appointment with the team is also not a possibility. Maybe he can, like, climb up the side and peer in through a window?
No, that's just creepy.
He frowns. How else is he supposed to check up on the team?
He stops walking, a sign catching his attention from the corner of his eye. When he turns and spots the public library across the street, it's like a lightbulb goes off in his brain.
Peter doesn't hesitate to change his course and, after looking both ways, jogs to the sidewalk on the other side of the street.
The library is mostly empty when he walks in. There's a large, dark, wooden desk straight ahead with an elderly woman sitting behind it. She doesn't look up from her computer when Peter steps inside and glances around. To the left are some bookshelves, and to the right are some more, but he catches a glimpse of some computers at the far wall. Glancing at the librarian, Peter makes a bee-line to the computers.
The screen is all dusty, but at least it connects to the free internet. He pulls up Google and types in "Avengers" before pressing the search button.
His eyes scan over the top news stories from The New York Post, CNN, CBS, Fox, and The Daily Bugle. He clicks on a link of a New York Post headline: "More Amendments to the Sokovian Accords—What You Need to Know."
The accords were the whole reason why Tony tracked down Peter in the first place. Since then, they have made amendments so the team has more control over their missions and involvement with threats all over the world, and it turns out they are still working out the kinks. Tony never said much about the Accords to Peter; something about not wanting him to worry about grown-up stuff.
Other than the Accords amendments, it seems like his team hasn't been up to much else since the alien robot fight in May. Peter isn't surprised—but is, admittedly, a little disappointed—when there's nothing said about Spider-Man's involvement of taking down those androids. He never got much news coverage anyways, so he shouldn't be that affected by it.
Clicking out of the tab a bit harsher than necessary, Peter shuts down the computer and pushes his chair out, getting to his feet. The librarian offers him a smile on his way out, but he notices the slight disgust as her lips curl when she takes note of his attire.
He knows he looks rough. He knows he looks like he could use a long shower; he does need one.
More than anything else, though, Peter just wants a hug from Aunt May.
The sun is getting a little low in the sky, so Peter estimates it's around five in the afternoon, meaning Aunt May would probably be back from work by the time Peter makes it from Manhattan to Queens.
It also means that he's hungry again, but he needs to see Aunt May before he can worry about starving to death.
The walk from Manhattan to Queens takes a few hours. The entire duration of the walk, Peter keeps his head down and his hands shoved in his sweatshirt pocket. The clouds hanging high in the sky begin to drizzle, so he throws his hood up. The drizzle turns into a sprinkle, then a soft rain, then a downpour. Thunder rips through the sky like Thor is having a tantrum . . . wherever he is. Asgard, probably.
His sopping wet sweatshirt clings to his suit underneath and weighs him down as he trudged through the storm. The only upside is that the thunder blocks out his stomach's angry grumbling. It makes it easier for him to ignore the stabbing pains in his abdomen.
Luckily for him, Peter's stickiness isn't hindered by the rain. He just needs to focus a little more on not slipping down the side of the building as he climbs, but it isn't impossible.
Like the day before, Peter crawls up to the window. Instead of peering through his bedroom, he shifts to the window next to it that looks into the living room.
The warm lighting inside looks more inviting than ever. He can't see the TV from the window, but he can tell from the laugh track and voices that it's playing old Friends reruns.
A knock snaps Peter's eyes to the front door. His gaze shifts to the hall when he hears footsteps, then Aunt May emerges, her hair tied back in a pretty braid and an outfit that looks a little too nice for casual. She hurries to open the door.
A man is standing on the other side with a bouquet of flowers. It isn't someone Peter remembers ever meeting. He smiles, and Aunt May smiles, and then they lean in and kiss.
Peter quickly leans away from the window and presses his back against the brick, brow furrowed.
She's dating someone. Cool. That's good.
Before anyone can see a soaked-to-the-bone teenager defying gravity and sticking to the side of the apartment building, he scrambles up to the roof and paces.
Aunt May hasn't dated anyone since Uncle Ben died two years ago. She always told Peter, "It's just the two of us against the world, now."
It makes sense that she'd be dating again, though. It's not like she has to worry about taking care of her teenage nephew anymore.
It just . . . it hits him hard, just like seeing Ned with Betty. It was Peter and Ned at school, and he assumed that once he stopped existing, Ned would be left to be all alone. It should be a good thing that he has other friends. At home, it was Peter and Aunt May. They would have dinner together, have movie nights together, go get ice cream together.
He supposes it hurts because nothing fell apart. He wasn't a vital piece. It's like . . . it's like his life didn't have any real impact on anyone or anything. It's not their faults they aren't grieving him or missing him, but it still feels like he's been tossed to the side of the road or ejected from everyone's lives.
It's not fair.
He tugs on his hair, wet and curly from the rain.
Stop self-pitying, he scolds himself, tugging harder on the roots of his hair. You did this to yourself. Quit whining.
The rain seeps through his suit. It leaves him shivering and his teeth chattering, but he can't find it in himself to care.
Cradling his howling stomach, Peter curls up in a ball and sits in the corner against the ledge around the perimeter of the roof. He tucks his head into his arms and closes his eyes and prays that, when he wakes up, it was all a dream. Or, if he wakes up in the same nightmare, that he'll at least have the strength to keep going.