Chapter 1
THE BEGINNING
“Of course you’re not an elf! You’re six-foot-three and had a beard since you were fifteen!”
— Leon the snowman, Elf.
It began on Christmas Eve in 2001, in an orphanage in Queens, with a five month old boy named Peter Parker.
Peter Parker, who had been dropped off at the orphanage when he was only three days old, on the thirteenth of August; his mother, having a heart condition, had known that she would die soon, and her brother, her only surviving relative, had died soon before Peters birth.
He — Peter — had already started attempting to crawl, by this point, developing earlier than expected.
(It made a lot more sense, once his fathers identity was revealed.)
So, on Christmas Eve, just a few minutes before midnight, five month old Peter Parker ventured out of his crib in that orphanage in Queens, and somehow found his way to the large Christmas tree at the end of the room — and into the large red sack that lay there as one Santa Claus delivered presents to the orphanage.
It wasn’t until the next morning — all the way back in the North Pole on Christmas Day, after Santa had delivered the remainder of the gifts — that anyone realised that Peter Parker was there.
He was discovered in Santas sack, by some of the elves; the elves not knowing what to do, and Peter too young to understand what was going on. This had been unprecedented. Never, in the history of everything, had a human child — or any human, for that matter — made their way into Santas workshop in the North Pole.
And so clearly, none of the elves knew what to do.
Peters name was written on a band on his wrist; Peter Parker, printed in uniform font on the small band.
So, the big man — Santa — made a decision. The boy would stay with them. He would be raised by the elves; with the elves. There was no going on by that point. Peter was already there.
He was taken in by a lovely couple; two elves, named Benjamin and May. He was given his adoptive fathers name, Benjamin, as a middle name, and raised as their nephew — never told that he was a human, rather than an elf, and instead told that his birth parents had died before he could remember them.
Which, as far as anyone knew, was technically true, as Peter had been in an orphanage before finding himself in the North Pole.
(Because of course, only Santa knew who Peters real father was. And he didn’t feel that it was necessary to tell the others that certain piece of information.)
Peter grew up like the other young elves… more or less. Soon enough, he started to outgrow the other children in his classes, growing taller than any elf could possibly be by the time he was ten.
He was smart. Crazily smart. So smart that Ben and May began to discuss taking him out of the ordinary elf school, and teach him at home, instead. Peter was basically genius. He excelled in his classes, he fixed appliances and toys and everything he could get his hands on — for fun.
When Peter was almost thirteen, his ‘Aunt May and Uncle Ben’; his adoptive parents, decided it best that they homeschool him, instead — and the big man agreed with them. Everyone agreed with them. Peter Benjamin Parker — the elf — was too smart for his own good, and the elves around him could barely keep up with his brain. He was inexplicably genius.
Really, the only thing keeping him at school with the other elves was his advantage at sports, which he only had because he was the size of a human almost-thirteen year old, rather than an elf almost-thirteen year old.
Things went fine with Peter being taught by Ben and May. May taught Peter math and science and writing and languages, and Ben took Peter into work with him, letting the young boy help him fix and repair Santas sleigh.
Like everything to do with building or fixing or making anything, Peter excelled in helping Ben work on the sleigh.
He still had no idea that he was a human. It definitely helped that Peter was small — by human standards. And that he’d never been led to believe that he wasn’t an elf in any way whatsoever. Ben and May were good like that; having raised him as their nephew rather than their son helped them immeasurably, and explained away things like Peters height and his lack of resemblance to either of them.
They were very careful with how they were — around the fact that Peter was actually human and how they kept that small, tiny fact a secret.
And so Peter continued to grow and learn, still never really suspecting anything of his true parentage.
Peter had just turned fifteen when Ben became sick.
Ben had known that he was older — even way back, when he and May let the little human baby into their home. But now… now it was showing. The sickness made him weaker and weaker, until…
Late October in 2016. Benjamin the elf — proclaimed Benjamin Parker by Santa, both to strengthen the pretence of him be their nephew, and to let some of the child’s identity, from before he got to the North Pole, remain intact — died.
He died a rather slow death, in a soft bed, with his wife on one side, holding his hand tightly with tears falling down her cheeks, and Peter on his other side, holding his other hand with both of his, and burying his face in the soft bedding to hide his tears.
“Peter…” Ben murmured, squeezing the boys hand tightly, trying to get the kid to look at him. “Peter, look at me, son.”
Peter looked up at him, his face red and tearstained. “Uncle Ben —” Peters voice cracked. “Uncle Ben, I — I can’t, Ben, I — I can’t, can’t — I can’t fo — this — Ben!”
Ben smiled sadly at Peter. “Kid. Pete. You’ll be okay, alright.” He pulled the kid closer, “You will be fine. You and May will be fine.”
“But — Ben I can’t, I can’t —“
“Peter, honey,” May said softly, running her spare hand through Peters hair, “Everything will be fine, sweetie. We’ll… we’ll be okay.”
“But May —”
“Peter,” Ben shook his head. “Peter, you’ll be okay without me. I have to go soon, but — just remember the good times, okay?”
“Okay?”
“Yeah. Yeah, kid. Just remember the good times. Please don’t remember me as my last moments.”
“Okay.” Peter breathed.
“I love you so much, Pete.”
“I love you too, Uncle Ben —“ He buried his head in the covers of the bed again. “I love you, I love you, I —“
“May.” Ben turned his head, to look at his wife, instead of his kid. “May, I love you so much, hon.”
“I love you too, Ben.” May smiled at him sadly. “So much.”
“May,” He lowered his voice. “May you have to — talk to —“ His breathing became laboured between his words. “— the — big guy — please — May, you — he’s — he’s gotta — gotta know about —” He choked, and breathed out one last time.
“Ben?” May shook his arm. “Ben?”
“Noo,” Peter shook his head, where he was still hiding in the covers on the bed. “No, ben, no, please!”
“Honey,” May disentangled her hand from Bens, and wrapped her arms around Peter instead. “It’ll be okay, hon. Everything will be okay.”
Ben died a rather ordinary death, surrounded by his wife and his nephew.
And that’s where things began to fall apart.
People started to talk, after that. They spoke about their sadness at Bens passing, and their worry for May, and —
— Peter knew that he shouldn’t have been eavesdropping that day, in the middle of the workshop. He was standing behind a shelf that none of the other could reach the top of, but he could. He felt — bad, since his Uncle died.
Peter had always known that he was different, ever since he was young. From when he got too large for the standard elf child beds, to when he grew taller than very person that he knew, to the way that toys just didn’t seem to… inspire him. He was more interested in building machines and things. More interested in mechanics than… toys.
There were a couple of elves there, talking.
“I can’t believe he hasn’t realised by now —“ one of them said, as they hid (unsuccessfully) on the other side of the shelf. “— I mean, Ben’s died, and he still hasn’t figured it out.”
“And they say he’s a genius.” The other one scoffed. “At this rate, Peter’ll never know he’s a human, not an elf.”
Peter froze, as the words began to process. His mind was moving at a mile a minute, and he began to see his life flash before his eyes —
— He was three years old, and he preferred to build machines, rather than toys. He was eight, and he was the same height as all the adults he knew, and much taller than all his classmates. He was eleven, and his clothing was too short. He was fourteen, and he wasn’t in school anymore, only going their to help the basketball team, because he was so much taller than all the others, and —
— At this rate, he’ll never know he’s a human, not an elf, at this rate, he’ll never know he’s a human, not an elf, at this rate, he’ll never know he’s a human, not an elf, at this rate —
Peter heard the faint sound of someone talking, but it barely registered — all he could see were memories; moments where he should’ve known that he wasn’t normal — when he was five and he said that the candy was too sweet, when he was thirteen and he asked Ben if he could have coffee, when he was fourteen and he started tinkering with random stuff that he found instead of sleeping —
“I’m okay, I just need a glass of water.” He found himself saying, before he passed out, and fell flat on his face.
“I’m sorry, honey,” May told his softly, smiling at him sadly. “And — well, Ben told me to tell you, but you’ve been so upset, and I — I couldn’t do that to you, but… I guess I have to. You — probably should have found out a long time ago, but…” She sighed. “But those elves were right. You’re not an elf, sweetie. You’re a human.”
Peter just stared at her, flabbergasted.
“And I know — I know we should’ve told you, but — we just love you so much, and — and you…” May sighed again. “Honey, I’m going to tell you a story, okay?”
“Okay.” Peter murmured.
“Your father — your father is a man who has always been rich and famous, and… and he has messed around a lot, in his life. He didn’t think about what his actions caused, and so when he had uh — when he had —“
“— sex?” Peter finished softly.
“Yeah, that,” May laughed humorously. “After a night with your mom doing — that — he just went on with his life, and she didn’t tell him about you,”
Peter frowned. “My dad doesn’t… know that I exist?”
“No, he — he doesn’t. He — your mom never told him about you, and then her brother died a few weeks before you were born, and she had a heart condition and so she — and so she put you up for adoption… and you… and you found your way here. To us.”
Peter swallowed thickly. “So my parents are… not dead?”
“Your father is alive. Not your mother, though.”
“My father is alive — cool. Cool, cool, coolcoolcoolcoolcool, cool — cool. Where can I, uh — where can I find my dad, my — my father? Where can I find him?”
May reached into the drawer next to her, and passed him a snow globe with a city in it. “Your father is in New York City. If you want — if you find him… if that’s… what you want to do. Whatever you want to do, I’ll always be here for you.”
Peter grinned, and engulfed her in a hug. “Thank you, May.” He murmured. “I’m gonna find my dad.”
“You’re welcome, honey.” She smiled sadly. “Now, uh — Santa wants to talk to you, about something. Before you go. I, uh — I love you, baby.”
“I love you too, May.” He let go of her, took the snow globe, and smiled. “I’m gonna go find my dad!”
“And talk to Santa first!” May called after him as he left their house.
“And talk to Santa first.” Peter rolled his eyes as he left, and made his way to meet the big guy in the workshop.
“So,” Santa smiled. “I hear you're going on a little journey to the big city.”
“Yeah…” Peter shrugged. “Kinda nervous, I guess. I, uh… we’ll I’ve heard that New York is pretty different, so that’s kind of…”
“You’ve got nothing to worry about, kid!” The old man said heartily. “Trust me — I’ve been to New York thousands of times.”
“Really? That so cool!”
“Mmhmm.”
“Whats it like?”
“Well there are some things you should know. First off, you see gum on the street, you should leave it. It’s not fee candy.”
“Oh…”
“Second, there are like, thirty Rays Pizzas. They all claim to be the original, but the real one’s on eleventh. And if you see a sign that says ‘peep show’, that doesn’t mean that they’re letting you look at presents before Christmas.”
Peter grinned. “Okay! I can’t wait to see — well, meet, I guess - my dad, we’re gonna go ice-skating, and eat something salty and savoury, and — and maybe he’ll like to build not toys, too! We can do all that together!”
“Yeah, that’s… the other thing I wanted to talk about.” Santa adjusted his glasses, and did his best to avoid Peters gaze. “Y’know, Peter, your father… yeesh… your father, well — uh — he’s on the naughty list.”
“NOOOO!”