Nowhere Boy

Most things, he found with enough practice, he could ignore.

Grief, he brushed off.
When Ben died, Peter had locked himself in his bedroom for an afternoon, a tornado of sobs and snot, and then emerged in the evening, quiet and helpful, ready with a hug for his aunt and a bowl of instant mac and cheese.

Anger, he let flow by him.
After everything the Vulture put him through, Peter had spent thirty minutes processing his rage and then unclenched his fists and went swinging around his neighborhood. He let it go, the man had just been trying to provide for his family. Misguided, sure but Peter could understand that.

Pressure, he thrived under. He had a secret identity for God’s sake.

The gnawing anxiety about growing up, the slowly increasing tension in his shoulder blades that was ruining his posture. Well, he could deal with that when he hit eighteen.

No worries, he had everything under control. Perfect Peter Parker, always quick with a smile and a helping hand. Never asking for too much, looking out for the little guy and never really looking out for himself.

Peter was good at acting like things did not bother him.

But in the middle of the crowd, with a screen blaring his deepest fear to millions of onlookers.

It was like someone had shoved him out of a warm shower and thrust him outside, naked for the entire world to see.

His entire life laid bare for speculation and comment. His worst nightmare, being realized. Just when everything seemed like it was looking up.

“Hey isn’t that him right there?”

“Yeah! That’s Spiderman!”

“ Hey, asshole!”

Peter barely acknowledged MJ’s shout for him as he webbed the farthest building he able to and raced away as fast as he could. His brain, seized up with preemptive dread for the oncoming storm, only could process the same blaring words over and over.

Everyone knows.
And now, everyone hates him.

In one singular fabricated news segment, Spiderman’s entire legacy had been ruined. As he flew through the streets of Manhattan in an almost blind frenzy, he was only dimly aware of his phone buzzing in his suit’s pocket. Peter scrambled to the nearest rooftop, landing with a scrabbling thump. He began to try and catch his breath.

“Okay, okay, Peter, uh, um okay. Calm down.” He wheezed quietly to himself in a self-soothing mantra. “Alright, so everyone knows. And uh, it’s worst case scenario. And you’re in trouble, but uh, you, uh, gotta-” He coughed hard. Breaths coming out in metallic gasps. He had to breathe, to calm down. He slid down to the brick below him, back facing away from the bustling street below. Not for the first time he thought to himself:

What would Tony do?

He wouldn’t care. He announced to the entire world as fast as he could that he was Ironman. When he got bad press, he embraced it and let it become apart of his untouchable persona. Nothing seemed to get to him, safe in his tower or compound, away from the noise and doubts of his character. He had Pepper do to damage control for him. When people spewed hate towards him, he laughed and agreed, sarcasm always lightly coating his tone.

‘Because no one could hate Tony Stark more than Tony Stark already hated himself.’ Peter thought bitterly.

Peter didn’t have the luxury of millions devoted to public relations. He didn’t have a Pepper. He didn’t have a legacy to hide in beyond the one he had been building for the last two to three years. No one could help him, at least, not right away. This didn’t have a quick fix.

For the first time since his parents died, Peter felt completely alone.

He felt tears well up in his eyes and he forced himself to gulp harshly, steeling himself to keep them at bay. He couldn’t let himself cry. At least, not yet. Not until-
His phone buzzed again. Peter pulled it out of his pocket and looked at the screen. May was calling. He picked up.

“May-” He gasped. It was hard to talk, there was an invisible hand around his throat, aching and clenching his airway until breath only snuck through as opposed to flowing.

“Peter! Sweetheart, are you alright? I saw the thing on the news-honey where are you?”

“May-” He tried again.

“Peter. Where are you? Lemme come and pick you up. I’ll take you home and this will all blow over, Happy-” She was talking a mile a minute, but Peter wasn’t listening.

“May!” He said firmly. She stopped. “Please, I’m sorry. But, I-I can’t come home. Not right now. It’s not safe.”

“Peter, I don’t care about that. The safest place for you is with me.” She said, her voice becoming watery.

“May, please just trust me. I’m-I’m gonna be okay. Promise you will be okay? Stay safe, I’ll do what I can, just, uh. I love you.”

“Peter. Listen to me I don’t want-” He hung up the phone and lightly tossed it to the side. Running a hand through his hair he sighed.

Would the police go after him? Now that Spiderman was a criminal?

Would the government go after him?

He had heard horror stories, of the Raft prison, floating somewhere out in the middle of the ocean, no connection to the outside world. When you entered, you didn't come back.  Thaddeus Ross, a name which in itself caused Peter to shudder, would certainly be on his case. If not to put him in jail, then to tag him, like some kind of animal, to make sure he stayed in his place. Toted out at government functions as a ‘prize of United States military prowess and strength’. Like they did to Bucky. He would never be free again.

Panic radiated off of him in waves, as he anxiously began scratching at his suit covered arms. It was itchy, sweat sticking to him, uncomfortably clinging both heat and salt to skin. If he didn’t remove it soon, he’d have a rash, he was sure of it. But he couldn’t bring himself to move more than his hands.

For not the first time, Peter cursed the day he had ever trusted Quentin Beck. If only he had been smarter, if he had seen Beck for what he was before he had gotten E.D.I.T.H then maybe, maybe this wouldn’t have happened. Never before had he felt so dumb and used. Beck had used his vulnerability following the death of his mentor and wormed his way in. And just when Peter thought he could be a kid a little while longer, that was ripped away from him.

What would Tony do?

Tony would’ve never trusted Beck. He’d have seen right through him and nipped the man in his budding stages. There would have been no need for a Mysterio because there would have been Iron Man.

His two identities were transient within each other, the two coexisting peacefully. You could’ve had one without the other. But there could be a Peter Parker without Spiderman. And there could be a Spiderman without Peter Parker.

Peter thought that maybe he would’ve been able to deal with the world hating Spiderman.

Because at least then, he could be Peter Parker.

He wasn’t sure if he could deal with the world hating both.

His phone kept buzzing, he glanced over and saw texts and missed calls from May, Happy, Ned, one text from MJ. He lightly rolled his finger over the screen, scrolling through the messages of concern.

Peter answer your phone.

Dude!!! What’s going on?

Peter, are you ok?

Parker your aunt is worried. Answer your damn phone.

He knew he should. That was the right thing to do, but Peter wasn’t sure he was going to be able to give them something they would want to hear. He wasn’t actually sure that anything could be said to make this okay. As long as his face was associated with Spiderman, everyone who had ever wanted to hurt Spiderman would hurt the people he cared about. So it was better this way. Iron Man wouldn’t run from a fight, but Peter was no Iron Man. He’d proven that again and again.
He needed to go underground. Stay out of the spotlight. Wait for this to blow over. Because it would, it always did. No matter what, superheroes always ended up being fine. That’s what happened with Captain America, right?

He just had to stay positive.

Things would work out. Just he had to stay away from everyone for a while so that they wouldn’t be associated with him. By that point, he will work something out, show the world that the video was fabricated, that Spiderman was the good guy.

Peter Parker was the good guy.

That he was just a kid from Queens who accidentally ended up being thrust on to the world stage of heroism a few years too early. A kid, who wanted to go back to being the friendly neighborhood Spiderman, helping old ladies and picking up litter after dark. A kid whose bravery had come with a mask which let him be all the things that Peter Parker could never be.

That when you stripped away the costume, tech, superpowers, and false bravado he was just a kid.

But until then, he had to go back to being anonymous. It would be hard, with his face and name plastered every which way, broadcasting every electronic device in the city, but Peter had always been good at keeping his head down. He had mastered it, blending in seamlessly to the high school crowds, never stepping out of line, always within the realm of what could be possible for a gangly 16-year-old boy. But it was time for him to grow up a little. No matter how much he desperately wanted to run into May’s arms and hide there, he had to be brave for a little longer. He didn’t care what happened to him, so long as his family stayed safe. For that, he had to keep them away.

Just for now, Peter Parker had to stop existing. Spiderman too.

Luckily, New York was the perfect city for anyone looking to disappear.