Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

“You can’t keep doing this,” the social worker, Peter thought her name was Charlise, said. Her dark brown hair placed in a messy bun with plenty of flyaways. The wrinkles in her blouse and her ill-fitting blazer showed the world just how tired she was. Social work never paid well enough for how much it demanded, especially not when it came to cases like Peter’s. He was labeled everything in the book: truant, delinquent, troubled. He never stayed where he was put and he ran away from every home that seemed happy to have him. At least they seemed that way on the outside.

Peter bounced his knee, not out of anxiety but out of the sheer necessity to keep moving. Attention Deficit Hyperactivity Disorder had always been a prospect in Peter’s life, but with so little money he couldn’t afford the evaluation. Plus most people just pinned it on him being a problematic foster kid. He didn’t know if he had it and he frankly didn’t care. He was smart and he did his school work–whenever he was actually in school–and as long as he did that no one cared if he suffered in other ways.

“Peter, seriously. You’ve run away again and again, for what?” Charlise paused for an answer that Peter didn’t give, “this is your last chance. You’re moving in with a lovely couple that run a group home. They’ve recently worked with a case similar to yours, a repeated runaway, and he’s very happy there now. Hopefully they can work the same magic on you.” Peter rolled his eyes and Charlise ignored his rude gesture. “They’re really looking forward to getting to meet you and welcome you into their family.” Charlise smiled, but it didn’t reach her eyes. She was trying her best to get Peter to respond positively.

Peter looked through the small window in the door where he spotted the heads of a man and woman. They seemed happy as they talked and laughed amongst themselves with a look of genuine love in their eyes. It turned Peter’s stomach knowing that his mom and dad probably looked at each other like that, but he couldn’t remember any of it, and the memories of his aunt and uncle looking happily at each other were fading fast. “And what if I don’t wanna meet them.” Peter’s voice was as low as he could make it–which wasn’t very low considering he hadn’t finished puberty yet–and he kept his eyes trained on his lap. He stopped picking at his cuticles just long enough to push his glasses back up the bridge of his nose.

“You don’t have a choice Peter–”

“Then I’ll just run away again.” He spoke quickly. He looked at Charlise with the kind of stubborn intensity only found in teenagers. He watched as she sighed and closed her eyes, calming herself so that she could handle the situation appropriately.

“Well, if you do, that means you’re out of options and you’ll be sent upstate to a residential treatment facility. You’ll have to leave your friends behind, as well as most of the freedoms you have now. I do my best to avoid sending kids to residential facilities, they aren’t fun places, but Peter… this is your last chance.” Charlise’s eyes softened with genuine care and her tone became almost pleading. “The couple, Rosa and Victor Vasquez, they didn’t have to take you in. In fact, their home was already full and they weren’t looking for any additions until their eldest moved out for college. You are incredibly lucky that they were willing to take you in, if not you’d be in a car heading upstate right now. You’re a smart kid Peter, you don’t wanna end up in a facility. I’ve run out of strings to pull for you. I know life is unfair, but please, please , just stay with them. Enjoy the life they’re giving you while you still can, because if you mess this up I can’t save you.”

Peter didn’t respond. He just continued to bounce his knee and pick at his cuticles. He sniffed and grabbed his backpack before standing up and walking out the door to meet his new foster parents.

Parker Luck was what his uncle called it. Ben had told Peter that his father and grandfather had called it that as well. But Peter barely had any memory of his father, and he was pretty sure he never met his grandfather. It was poorly named considering there was nothing lucky about it. It was more like a curse, and at this point Peter was pretty sure he was the cause of it.

Busted water pipes, freezer burned steak, moldy bread, and blown fuses followed the Parker’s wherever they went, it was a way of life. They made due and pushed forward, enjoying the fact that even though something bad always happened to them they still had their loved ones. At least it had been like that before Peter was born.

First, it was his parents. They dropped Peter off at May and Ben’s when he was four, got on a plane, and never came back. He didn’t learn that they were dead until two months later, and it took him even longer to realize that death meant they were gone forever.

“Did mom and dad leave because of me?” That was a fairly common question the first few years of Peter's new life with May and Ben as his sole guardians. Their response was always to drop whatever they were doing and explain that it wasn’t his fault at all, that it was an accident and that his mom and dad had loved him very much.

Peter never really believed them, but he stopped asking as he got older.

He adjusted with the help of a child therapist and soon treated his aunt and uncle like they were his own parents; they ended up raising him for most of his life anyway. That was until he turned nine.

It was his ninth birthday. It had fallen on a weekend that both May and Ben had free, so they had decided to make a day of it. A grandiose party or reservations at a fancy restaurant weren't feasible options for their tax bracket, but they could give Peter their time and attention. They drove Peter everywhere and anywhere he wanted to go. They played music in the car and sang and danced as much as they could in their seats. But a stranger who had fallen asleep at the wheel after pulling an all-nighter put an end to the celebration in under a second.

It was a head on collision. Two dead and two injured. Ben died in the ambulance en route to the hospital. May died three days later in the hospital due to complications. The driver sustained several injuries but survived. And Peter… he lived but it felt like his life had stopped right then and there.

He suffered a broken arm, a concussion, a few cuts along his arms and legs that required stitches, several smaller scrapes and bruises, and a wiggly baby tooth had popped out. Despite the seatbelt leaving a huge bruise across his chest, people told him he was lucky that he was wearing it. But he didn’t feel lucky. There was a part of him that wished he hadn’t been wearing it, that he would have flown through the window and died right there with the rest of his family. He never voiced that desire though; he learned quickly that those were very inappropriate thoughts for a nine year old.

He dealt with a whole slew of different adults running around to figure out what to do with him. He had no family left, he had lost everyone before he reached double digits. He was passed from one adult to another, but their faces blurred together. They weren’t his aunt and uncle. They weren’t his mom and dad. He didn’t care about them. They’d leave him too eventually.

When he first entered the apartment after the accident everything felt off. A different adult had brought him here to help him pack his things several days after his release from the hospital. The fruit left in a bowl on the counter had started to go bad, especially the banana's May had planned to make banana bread with, and the sink full of the remnants of Peter’s birthday pancakes let off an unpleasant stench.

He showed the man his room, but when he opened the door he hadn’t expected to see what was there.

On his bed was a card sealed away in a light blue envelope, and around the room were wrinkled balloons that had been leaking helium. He was meant to come home that night with his aunt and uncle and be surprised by the decorations and the card. He was certain there were presents for him hidden somewhere in his aunt and uncle’s bedroom. Witnessing the celebratory display in such a quiet apartment felt like a bastardization of what it was meant to be. Before he even realized what was going on, he was sitting on the floor sobbing.

The man that had come along with him made quick work of grabbing everything that Peter needed: clothes, small personal items, his spare inhaler and glasses, the card. He asked if Peter wanted to grab anything from his aunt and uncle's room, but he didn’t think he had it in him to enter that space for the last time knowing that May and Ben weren’t behind the door waiting for him to reveal this was all some sick practical joke.

It took less than an hour for the man to pack away all of Peter’s life into a backpack and a duffle bag and shuffle him back out to the car. He got Peter an ice cream cone that he didn’t eat on the way to his temporary home, the ice cream melting and dripping all over his hand and lap. But it only added to his miserable aesthetic with his red, puffy eyes and constant hiccups and sniffles from crying

He would be staying with a small family until more permanent arrangements could be made with a foster family. He didn’t last two days at the house before he ran away. And thus began a long cycle of running away, moving, running away again, and moving again. Sometimes he was stuck in a shitty home, but other times he just felt like he couldn’t stay. Like if he sat still his Good Ol’ Parker Luck would catch up with him and steal them away too, like it stole away everything he loved. Sometimes it sounded alright, but other times it terrified him. And so he ran away over and over again, because sometimes staying alone and taking care of himself was better than getting everyone killed.

Chapter Text

When Billy Batson was pulled out of his dreams, what he hadn’t expected to see was Freddy’s face right in front of his. In fact, he hadn’t been expecting anything, and so it was perfectly reasonable for him to scream and sit straight up. However, that sudden movement caused the two teens' heads to crack against each other rather audibly. Freddy fell to the ground clutching his forehead, his crutch falling with him, and Billy fell right back onto his bed, doing the same.

They laid like that, groaning for a few moments, before Billy spoke up, “what the hell man?!”

“You didn’t wake up when Victor came in! They’re making pancakes downstairs, I thought you’d want to know,” Freddy hissed as he pressed his fingers into his forehead, he could already feel a small knot forming, “but next time I won’t wake you and I’ll save myself a concussion…”

Billy sat back up on his top bunk, still rubbing his forehead, “pancakes?”

“Yeah dude, pancakes.”

Billy hopped off the top bunk, still shaking off the last dredges of sleep but far more awake after he slammed his head into Freddy’s. Billy picked up Freddy’s crutch and offered a hand to his foster brother, which Freddy took before grabbing the crutch himself and slipping his arm into the cuff. They made their way downstairs to the kitchen where the rest of the family was congregating, all in their pajamas, to help get breakfast ready on this early Saturday morning. Music was playing, but the song kept changing every thirty seconds as a different kid gained control of the speaker.

Freddy leaned over the counter and grabbed a slice of banana from the pile Mary was cutting. He popped it in his mouth before she could slap his hand away. She pointed the knife at him threateningly, but her eyes held no malice. They were just messing with each other, like a real brother and sister.

Despite all the strides he had made in accepting this family as his own after the supervillian incident, it was still sometimes bizarre to see such authentic sibling interactions. For years he had run from every attempted family and closed himself off in search of a mother that didn't even want him. He still wasn’t all too sure how to be a good brother. He loved his new family, but when it came to stuff like this he was reminded that he had only been a part of this family for a little over a month now and didn’t really understand how to fit in. Despite that, they were pretty close; saving the world together kind of had that effect.

“Freddy, help Darla and Eugene set the table. Billy come help me and Pedro cut up fruit,” Mary said with a soft smile. She was leaving part way through summer to go to early admission events at CalTech and Billy would genuinely miss her.

“Hey! Why can’t I help cut up fruit?!” Freddy threw the arm that he didn't use to keep himself standing straight out to the side indignantly.

“Literally no one trusts you with a knife dude,” Billy said with a smirk, Freddy’s head turned quickly to look at his smirking foster brother, and when he turned back to the rest of his family to defend himself, they were all looking at him with expressions that showed they all agreed.

Freddy sighed and grabbed the bowl of blueberries next to the bowl of bananas that Mary was cutting before making his way to the dining table. Billy walked to the side of the counter beside Mary and picked up the knife she was offering him. Pedro was already cutting up strawberries, so that left Billy with peaches.

“I’ve never had peaches on pancakes before,” Billy picked up the fruit and rolled it around in his free hand. He didn’t really know where to start cutting a peach, he knew there was a pit in the middle and he knew that it was okay to eat the skin despite how fuzzy it felt.

“Eugene loves them. Rosa put them on his pancakes when he first got here. Ever since, he has to have peaches whenever we have pancakes.” Mary stopped cutting the banana when she realized Billy didn’t really know what to do. She grabbed another peach from the pile–there were only four–and sliced and pitted it slowly enough that Billy could follow along.

Billy followed the steps to the best of his ability and his first two peaches came out pretty rough, but he got the hang of it by the last one. He set the bowl out for Freddy to take later.

With eight people working on breakfast it wasn’t long before the table was set with a huge stack of pancakes, slightly burnt 'fakin' bacon, scrambled eggs, hashbrowns, warmed maple syrup, and a variety of toppings. It smelled delicious and Billy couldn’t wait to dig in.

“Alright, all hands on deck!” Victor said and all the kids piled their hands into the center. “Thank you for this family, thank you for this day, and thank you for this food, even if it’s not real bacon.” Everyone chuckled at his joke save for Darla, she had requested the 'fakin' bacon in the first place, and removed their hands from the center. “Alright, dig in!”

The family might not have been the most cohesive, but they usually ran pretty smoothly with only minor hiccups here and there, especially after Billy had accepted them as part of his own, but Saturday morning breakfast was a different matter entirely.

Everyone scrambled for good portions of the pancakes and nearly all of the sides–although, no one really fought over the 'fakin' bacon–and within two minutes nearly all of the chocolate chips that had been placed on the table were gone. However, once everyone got what they wanted on their plate the commotion settled down to the normal scene of meals together.

“So, any plans for the day?” Victor asked after swallowing his first bite of pancake. All the kids looked between each other, slightly confused. No one really made plans without telling Victor or Rosa; they were their guardians and there was established trust between them. Except for superhero things, they kept that to themselves. 

After a few beats of silence Victor clapped his hands together and gave a huge grin. “Perfect! Because I was thinking we could have a sorta family day out, go to the mall, maybe to the movies. There’s a nearby theater that’ll give us a discount since we’re buying so many tickets.”

Everyone got huge grins on their faces at the mention of a family day together. Since there were so many of them and they usually did their own thing, it wasn’t often that they could actually go somewhere all together.

“Can we see The Snow Princess?!” Darla shouted excitedly, it was the newest animated children’s princess film and Darla already had the picture book based off the movie.

“I’m not sure Darla–” Rosa started before Freddy butted into the conversation.

“They’re still showing the cool Superman biopic, we should totally see that!”

“Freddy, you’ve already seen that movie,” Victor attempted to reason.

“Yeah, but I wanna see it again!” Getting to meet Superman had done nothing but worsen Freddy’s obsession with the superhero, which no one really thought was possible, nonetheless Billy didn’t regret bringing him in to meet his friend. Especially not after he heard what happened when he hadn’t shown up the first time.

“We gotta find something we all like,” Rosa started.

“Yeah, if we got to choose what we wanted, we’d be watching a romance,” Victor finished, raising his eyebrows at Rosa and kissing the air in her direction. She playfully smacked him and all the kids around the table audibly groaned at the display of affection. It was cute, but it was always weird watching adults flirt.

The conversation devolved from there into what stores the kids wanted to visit and if they could buy anything while there, but before long Rosa’s cell phone started ringing. She quickly pulled the phone out of her pocket to turn it off–no cell phone use was allowed at the dining table–when she saw the caller ID and froze. She looked at Victor, her eyes wide and telling all he needed to know. Rosa stood up first, accepting the call and speeding out of the room. The kids only heard a quick and concerned, “hello?” as she walked out of the kitchen and out of earshot.

Victor stood up next, wiped his mouth with a napkin, set it down, and spoke. “Just keep eating, we’ll be right back.” And with that he followed Rosa out.

The kids exchanged glances before Eugene spoke up. “Coming or going?”

Darla frowned. “Coming I hope, I don’t wanna lose anyone!”

Freddy nodded, “we’ve all been good and we haven’t met with any families. Definitely coming.”

Pedro, speaking up for the first time today, said, “we don’t have any more room.”

Mary shrugged. “We will at the end of summer.” Everyone frowned at the idea. They all knew that Mary had gotten into CalTech and would be moving onto campus during the summer. That meant a new room would open up and they could take in another kid or two.

“So why are they calling now?” Eugene asked.

“Wait, what’s going on?” Billy asked, he'd gathered the basics. Mary’s leaving for college at the end of summer and someone is coming, most likely before she leaves. But he wasn’t sure what that meant exactly.

“They always make that face when a social worker calls.” Darla explained, and everyone else nodded in response.

“Same thing happened before you showed up.” Eugene turned back to his pancakes after that, taking a big bite.

“What d’you think they’re gonna be like?” Freddy asked.

“I hope it’s another girl, there’s too many boys. But as long as they’re nice I don’t care.” Darla was going to be the only girl soon enough, and while she loved her brothers she also wanted a sister.

“Wait,” Billy said, leaning forward, “if there’s someone coming then we need to be all on the same page with…” Billy raised his hands and wiggled his fingers, his eyebrows raised. His foster siblings looked at him confused before he sighed and spoke up, “superheroes?”

All his siblings made an “oh,” noise and nodded their heads.

“We can’t let them find out.”

“Wait, we can’t tell them about our powers?” Darla asked.

“Absolutely not,” Billy said, “same thing with Victor and Rosa. Remember, you wanna be a good sister right?”

Darla pouted, she didn’t like keeping secrets from people. Not only was she not that good at it, she liked being honest. Nonetheless, she nodded, accepting the challenge.

“Good,” Billy turned to the rest of the table, “we don’t know them. If they find out about what we can do, it could be super dangerous. Plus… it’d kinda suck to be the only foster kid in the home without powers. It’s better if they just... don’t know.”

Everyone agreed, Billy was the unofficial leader of the team, considering he received his powers first and gave them all their powers. So when it came to superhero based things, they listened to Billy. However, Freddy was a close second and often led alongside Billy due to his insurmountable knowledge on superheroes.

They moved back onto guessing what the new kid would be like when Rosa and Victor came back to the table. They looked a little stressed, but happy nonetheless. They didn’t sit back down at the table, but instead stood behind their chairs to speak. “So… good news!”

“A new kid is coming,” Freddy said, which set off a series of questions asked all at once:

“What’s she like?” Darla asked immediately after.

“Are we gonna have to move stuff around? Get a new chair? A new bed?” Eugene brought up.

“How old are they?” Mary asked.

“What’s their name?” Billy asked.

Rosa and Victor seemed a little taken aback by the onslaught of questions. But it quickly devolved into chuckles. “Alright alright, I didn’t realize we were being so obvious.” Victor laughed.

“Yes, a new kid is coming. He’s fifteen,” Rosa started explaining, and at the use of ‘he’ Darla frowned, “and his name is Peter.”

Pedro looked up at the English version of his name, he had been paying attention to the conversation, but also enjoying his pancakes before they got cold. Practically everyone was looking at him, now that they knew the new kid and Pedro’s names were so similar. “What?”

Chapter Text

The Vasquez house was abuzz with excitement. More accurately, Darla was buzzing with enough excitement for the entire house. After Rosa and Victor had announced their new addition, they all finished breakfast and cleaned up. Their weekend plans were put on hold as they set up Billy and Freddy’s room to fit another bed and made sure there was enough room to accommodate another person. They weren't sure what Peter would bring with him, so they stocked up their back up toiletries just in case. 

Then Victor and Rosa left to pick Peter up and all the kids in the house went to do their own thing. Darla waited by the bottom of the stairs working on a welcome sign. She got Mary to help her since Rosa left before she could map out the poster with a ruler. Pedro went to his and Eugene's room. Eugene posted up in the living room with his laptop to play video games. Freddy was logging the physical therapy he had forgotten to do for gym class. And Billy… Well, Billy had a problem.

“I gotta go,” Billy said, holding his phone after getting an encrypted message from Superman about an emergency.

Freddy, however, was very excited. He stood up without his crutch, using the desk as support instead, “I’ll come with you!”

“No!” Billy put his hands up, “Rosa and Victor are gonna be coming back with Peter, I need you to cover for me if it takes too long.”

“C'mon dude! You can't just kick me to the curb like that!” Freddy sat back down at his desk so he didn't have to prop himself up anymore.

“I'm not! It's not such a big thing that I need the whole team, I need you to make sure that no one finds out I'm gone. Can you do that?”

“Fine,” Freddy mumbled, propping his elbow on the desk and leaning his head on it. Billy started towards the door, but Freddy spoke up before he left. “Wait! What should I say? If I just say you went out then they'll think you ran away again.”

Billy had only been here a month, and while he now knew that his mom didn't want him, he was still a problem case according to the Office of Family and Children Services. “Uh, tell them I'm in the bathroom.” And with that Billy slipped out their bedroom door and out the back of the house.

Freddy on the other hand turned to look at his notebook where he was logging fake physical therapy workouts and sighed before grabbing his crutch and standing up, deciding to actually do his exercises even if it was just to relieve his annoyance at being left behind.

Billy still wasn't back an hour and a half later when Victor and Rosa pulled into the driveway with Peter. Peter had spent a majority of the ride silently in the backseat despite all of Victor and Rosa's attempts at questions and conversation starters. They never pushed him to talk, but they made him know he was welcome to speak. He got out of the car, grabbing his backpack and duffle bag, and followed the couple inside.

“We're home!” Rosa shouted, to which there was no response for the first few seconds. However, there soon was the sound of someone running towards them.

“Wait!” Darla shouted, holding a glittery sign that said ‘Welcome Home New Brother!’ “I made this for you! You're Peter right?”

Before he could answer she hugged him and he froze immediately. It was obvious to Rosa and Victor in his facial expression, eyes wide and jaw tight, that physical contact was a no-go. Darla, however, had her face buried in Peter's stomach and couldn't see that.

“I'm so glad you're here! I was hoping for another girl, but you're perfect the way you are!”

“Hey, Darla, sweetie” Rosa intervened, putting her hand between Peter and Darla, gently pushing her away. “Personal space, remember? Why don't you go make sure Eugene has a plan for dinner tonight okay?”

“Okay!” Darla said, letting go of Peter. She was still holding the sign. She held it out to him, “here! This is for you. Mary helped me make it.”

Peter gently took the sign, considerably calmer now that he wasn't being hugged. “Uh, thank you.”

After he took the sign Darla ran off. He looked at the words, ‘Welcome Home New Brother’, and pursed his lips.

“Sorry about that. That was Darla, she's a hugger,” Rosa laughed lightly to try and clear the air, but when Peter didn't respond she grew even more concerned. “Are you alright?”

“‘m fine,” Peter responded too quickly, “it's just a lot to take in.”

Rosa didn't believe him for one second, but she nodded anyway. “It's definitely a lot, but just know that if you ever need a break or need to talk, Victor and I are here for you.”

He looked at the couple with confusion. “Uh, yeah, thanks,” he said in the same way he had responded to the poster Darla had made him. He cleared his throat and looked at his feet. Rosa’s lips formed a thin, worried line.

Her and Victor had become foster parents because they knew what the system did to people. They had both watched their friends let out into a world they weren’t prepared for, or give up before they ever got released. They knew what it was like to be a foster kid past the golden age where your chance of getting adopted was practically zero.

Victor and Rosa wanted to give these kids a chance, give them a family and a support system that will last even after they've aged out of the system. It tugged on Rosa's heart strings intensely to see Peter so despondent and depressed under his assumption that he had no support. She wanted to help him become the best he could be, but she knew that would take time and effort.

“C'mon, I'll show you to your room,” she sent a smile in Victor's direction and he decided that she could do that on her own. She must've had some kind of plan. They were good at that, communicating without words.

“I'll go make sure the kitchen isn't an utter mess,” Victor said, walking past the stairs and into the kitchen. They had left before everything was cleaned up and had asked the kids to just make sure it wasn't a total mess for their new addition.

Rosa nodded and headed up the stairs, making sure that Peter followed behind her. He started to look a little less tense after he was no longer surrounded by both Victor and Rosa, but he still looked extremely uncomfortable. He followed Rosa up the stairs and almost ran into her when she stopped at the top.

“What're you up to Freddy?” She questioned, dubious.

Freddy stood just outside the bathroom door, the door was closed and the light was on. He had a very suspicious look on his face.

“Nothing! Why does everyone always think I'm up to something?!”

“Because you always are.” Rosa chuckled and shook her head as Freddy pouted. They walked passed him on their way to the bedroom that would now be shared by three teenage boys. “That's Freddy, you'll be sharing a room with him and Billy.”

Rosa knocked on the door as they approached, and when there was no response she pushed open the door and looked around, surprised to not see Billy in the room. “You'll be staying here. Make yourself feel at home.” She turned back to Freddy who had followed them from the bathroom door. “Freddy, where's Billy?”

“Bathroom,” Freddy said quickly, he nodded as he spoke, hoping his lie wasn't too obvious. “Pancakes didn't sit well with him. He's taking a mondo dump. Just,” Freddy blew a raspberry to imitate the sound of Billy emptying his bowels, “blowing it up in there–”

“Okay, that's enough,” Rosa sighed, raising her hand to stop Freddy, “too much information.” She stepped from the door and rubbed a hand into Freddy's hair. “This is Peter. Make him feel comfortable, and don't talk anymore about bathroom stuff okay?”

“Like how it's gonna totally reek in there when Billy gets out, because little poop molecules are in the air and get into your nose?”

Rosa sighed playfully and ruffled Freddy's hair again, “yes, exactly like that. Now are you done? Is it out of your system?”

Freddy shrugged and Rosa removed her hand from his head. “Can I talk to Peter real quick in private? You can come back when we're done, but maybe don't just stand outside the bathroom door.”

“I'm not doing anything!” Freddy argued, trying to get Rosa to stop thinking that he was up to something.

“Alright, alright, now shoo.” She closed the door partly, leaving a small crack so that Peter wouldn't feel closed in. “Peter…”

Peter froze, stood in the middle of the room. The fact that Rosa and him were alone and she wanted to talk to him caused his anxiety to spike. He felt like a deer in headlights and the grip he had on his duffle bag tightened until his knuckles were paper white.

“Are you okay?”

Rosa's words caused Peter's brain to short circuit. Was she asking if he was okay? In all his experiences in foster homes, getting locked away in a room to ‘talk’ with a foster parent never ended well. But Rosa was asking if he was okay. “What?”

“I would normally give you time to adjust, but… the way you reacted when Darla hugged you…” Rosa's eyebrows were knitted together out of concern.

“I'm sorry, I just– I didn't mean to.”

“Hey, hey. You're fine, you're not in trouble or anything. I just wanna make sure you're okay. Or if you need a place to cool down or if I need to have a talk with Darla about touching or hugging or–”

“It's fine,” Peter was staring intently at the ground and picking at the cuticles of his thumbs. “It's really fine.” His voice was tight and it was definitely not fine.

Rosa bit her lip and nodded her head in thought. “I'm not gonna force you to open up, you just met me. But I want you to feel comfortable here. If you ever need anything you can come talk to me, or Victor, or even any of your foster siblings. We're all here for you.” She gave him a small smile to hopefully make him more comfortable. Then she raised her fist up slowly to ask him for a fist bump. He slowly, and very unassuredly, fist bumped her back.

And with that she left. And Peter was terribly confused. As she left Peter could see that she hadn't actually closed the door, she had taken into consideration the fact that closing the door in the room with a strange adult might've made him uncomfortable. He couldn't believe just how considerate she had been. In his experience with adults, the only people who had cared so much about him had been his aunt and uncle and his parents before them.

Before he could fully wrap his head around the thought the door opened again as the kid, Freddy, entered. “So Peter, do you fancy the odds?”

“What?” Peter was even more confused now.

“This place seems nice, but it turns into a real battle royale à la Hunger Games after lights out.” Peter's eyebrows knitted together and Freddy laughed in response. “Kidding! It's a pretty sweet deal if you can handle living with eight other people.” Freddy walked past Peter and to his dresser full of superhero memorabilia and covered in ‘Red Cyclone’ trinkets and stickers. A batarang sat poised on top of a display. “You into supes? Wanna see the selfie I got with Superman and Captain Sparklefingers?”

Before Peter could respond Freddy was shoving his phone into his face and on it was a photo of Freddy, Superman, and the new superhero that had shown up about a month ago. Red Cyclone, or Captain Sparklefingers apparently. “Uh cool, I mean, I'm more into Iron Man and Captain America… but cool.” He shifted his backpack to the side so Freddy could see the little Iron Man and Captain America keychains he had hanging from the zipper.

“Oh come on, you can't think they're cooler than freaking Superman! I mean Iron Man is just– he's just some dude in a suit and Captain America is just like a super... man. Not– not like the Superman.”

Peter shrugged and opened his mouth to mention that he was pretty sure Batman was also just a man in a suit when there was a faint boom and a scuffle from outside. He went to check the window as Freddy sped out the room. Peter, suspicious, followed Freddy only to see another kid open the door to the bathroom and walk out. They whispered a few quick words to each other that Peter couldn't hear before they turned to face him.

Peter raised one hand and gave a small wave to the person he could only assume was the kid, Billy, who had been ‘taking a mondo dump’. At the wave both smiled and approached him.

“Hey, I'm Billy. Do you like video games?”

Shit shit shit ! He was super late! He didn't think it would take as long as it did. He had gotten the encrypted message from Superman and he assumed it was going to be quick and easy and he'd make it back within the hour. But here he was trying to make it back two hours later. In all honesty that wouldn't be all that bad considering he could fly and had super speed, but no amount of speed he had could make up for the fact that it didn't take two hours to pick up a new foster kid.

As he approached the house he could see Rosa and Victor's van outside and he really hoped Freddy hadn't tried to make up his own lie for why he wasn't around. He circled the house to find the best way to enter when he saw it; a piece of paper taped to the window of the upstairs bathroom that read: ‘COME IN HERE. YOU HAVE A BAD TUMMY’.

Billy rolled his eyes at Freddy's note but appreciated it nonetheless. He flew up to the little bit of roof that stuck out under the window and said “Shazam” before doing his best to quickly climb through the window.

He grabbed the piece of paper, crumbled it up, and threw it into the toilet that he flushed right after. He left the bathroom only to come face to face with Freddy.

“Did you kick any supervillain asses?” Freddy whispered excitedly, keeping his voice low enough that Peter wouldn't hear.

“Shhh, keep it under wraps okay. I can't let anyone know.” Billy responded in a similar tone. He then looked up to see a new kid, presumably Peter, standing just outside the door to their room. The boy gave a small wave and Billy smiled at him. He knew how hard it was to just up and move to a new home, especially one this hectic. He also didn't want him to be suspicious at all.

Peter would be staying in his and Freddy's room, which meant they not only had to hide their superheroing from Victor and Rosa, but also from a new roommate. He cursed the fact that his life had to be so complicated, but he also knew that it wasn't Peter's fault so he couldn't really be annoyed with the other boy.

He smiled and headed towards Peter as he spoke, “Hey, I'm Billy. Do you like video games?”

Chapter Text

Dear Peter B. Parker,

We regret to inform you that your scholarship and enrollment in Midtown School for Science and Technology has been suspended due to charges of truancy and delinquency that explicitly go against the institution's established code of conduct.

However, you are not expelled. You may return next semester with your full scholarship if you show recorded improvement in attendance at your temporary school and sign a contract with administration promising that your behavior will reflect Midtown's values.

We understand that your situation is difficult and, here at Midtown, we aim to give our students the best chance to thrive. However, we don't tolerate the behaviors you have repeatedly displayed. If you fail to change your behavior, or return next semester and continue such behavior, we will be forced to terminate your scholarship and expel you permanently.

Signed,

Kenneth J. Morita

MSST Principal

Above the name was a copied print of Principal Morita’s signature, and below was his contact information with the request to set up an appointment. Which Rosa and Victor did and dragged Peter to come Sunday afternoon.

Morita explained the situation better than the letter could, and in his own firm but kind words. Peter was an intelligent student who had earned a full ride scholarship to Midtown after he began taking upper level science courses in middle school. But he was often truant and they couldn’t allow him to skate by the ethical standards they had in place just because he was a gifted foster kid. If he could prove himself, he would be welcomed back and the truancy issues that got him suspended in the first place would be expunged from his record.

“I want you to do well, I really do Peter. You’re a good kid. I’ve been with you one semester already and your grades show that you’re well on your way to being one of the highest ranking students at this institution, but with your absences and your… history of running away, you won’t be able to keep up with the high school workload here." Peter called bullshit, he was managing his school workload just fine despite his truancy and unstable housing. But he remained silent. Morita glanced at his desktop for a moment, "I see you’re in both the chemistry and engineering track, which means your workload is already tremendous. We want the best for you, and right now if you were to stay and continue as you are, you will fail and after that we can’t let you back in. Take this chance Peter, perhaps an easier workload will be better for the time being. Once everything gets sorted out, you’re welcome to come back for the fall semester and continue as a sophomore alongside your peers.” Principal Morita spoke with a calm and kind tone that nearly pleaded for Peter to just do what he was told for once.

“Where… where will I go?” Peter asked, he had been quiet for nearly the entire meeting. He was still coming to terms with the fact that he would no longer be in class with Ned. He would no longer be able to do Decathlon with his team. He would be going to a regular public school, and the last time he was in one of those he nearly died of boredom. He was suited for Midtown. Their STEM courses were advanced enough to, usually, keep him engaged, while their language and artistic electives were formatted more for those with STEM centered brains. He didn’t totally suck at English and Spanish and Social Studies, and he thrived in Mathematics and Chemistry and Shop class.

But public schools, or at least what he remembers from middle school, were not made for him.

“Well, all of our other kids go to Fawcett Academy. We know them well and they work well with kids in difficult situations. It’s also a high security school and there’s guards at the exits so that students can’t leave without a guardian.” Rosa spoke, smiling. They could get Peter enrolled in that school in less than a day. Especially with letters from his case worker and Midtown.

“That’s not too far, it’s still in the district. If you can just sign some paperwork we can transfer his files there and they can send his new files back in the fall.” Morita smiled at Peter, positive that he’d be back for the fall semester. He believed Peter was a good kid, he just needed a fire lit under his ass to get him on the right path.

After they filled out paperwork at Midtown, they had to do the same thing at Fawcett Academy. They gave him a temporary schedule to follow for the first few days until they placed him in the right classes for his level.

The principal of Fawcett Academy, Andrew Davis, read off Peter’s schedule to the trio. “As a Freshman, your schedule, for now, is English One, U.S. History, Beginner Chemistry, Spanish One, Algebra One, P.E., and you get to pick one elective, but since you’re coming in during the second semester there’s not a lot of choices left that have room for you. I think, we have photography, dance, JROTC–”

“I can’t do that. That schedule wont work,” Peter spoke up, the thought of taking such basic STEM classes and being bored out of his mind made him anxious. He needed to be engaged to want to stay.

“It’s only temporary. Once we get your records we can change things around.”

“Can I at least take an AP science and Math course? I was taking them at Midtown and– and I want those AP credits.”

“We don’t… we don’t offer AP courses to freshmen unfortunately. However, we do have honors courses you can take after we get your records. It’ll only be a few days. Use this time to make some friends and get a feel for the school alright?”

Peter stopped listening after he heard that he couldn’t take AP credits. He might’ve skipped school a lot, enough to get him kicked out of Midtown for the time being. But he still wanted AP credits to make college easier. He only skipped to prevent OFCS from catching him after running away from a foster home. But he still aced his tests and was preparing for the AP exams so that he could get a good college scholarship or even graduate early, gain independence, and get out of the system.

He felt sick, this temporary transfer would set him back a whole year. He couldn’t take the AP exam’s at the end of the year if he only took one semester of an AP class. He couldn’t get college credit this year, which meant that he’d be wasting a whole year for nothing .

He stood up and stormed out of the room, to the surprise of all the adults. Rosa watched him go and Victor stood up and followed him out of the door. Rosa was softer, she was gentle, she was the first chance. Victor was a bit tougher, and was the more disciplinary guardian. But he could also be gentle when need be, just like Rosa could be far scarier than Victor when she was angry.

Peter sat down on the floor a few yards away from the door to the principal's office. He curled up his legs, crossed his arms on top of them and hid his head in the space created. Victor approached him slowly, remembering Rosa’s warning about touch, and leaned down to talk on his level.

“Hey bud,” Victor tried, and Peter gave no response. “What was that all about?” Peter still didn’t respond, so Victor sighed and sat down against the wall next to him. “Changing school’s sucks. I would know, I transferred high schools seven times in three different districts. And don’t even get me started on how many elementary and middle schools I went to.” He chuckled in an attempt to ease the tension. But Peter kept his head firmly in his arms. “Do you wanna talk about why you’re upset? Maybe we can help?”

“No.” Peter mumbled into his arms, and despite the defiance Victor counted that as a win. At least he was talking now, even if it was only one word.

“Alright, but if you don’t tell us there’s nothing we can do to help you. Closed mouths don’t get fed.”

“Closed mouths don’t catch flies.” Peter mumbled, and Victor was able to hear just how upset the kid was. Peter had that proverb said to him at least once a day in his third foster home whenever he started to rant about something he was interested in. After that he started keeping to himself, no one wanted to listen to his rants except for May and Ben. But they were gone. Ned would listen to him too and share ideas with him, but even now he was gone too. In his past few homes he wasn’t allowed to have Ned over, and Ned’s mom was too strict to let Peter stay over for anything longer than a study session. He wasn’t sure if Victor and Rosa would let Ned come over, or if Ned’s mom would let him travel that far to see him.

His main way of interacting with Ned had been school. And now… that was all over.

“Flies are a good source of protein.” Victor said after a quick beat, “at least I think so. People eat bugs all around the world.” He took a deep breath. “Listen Peter, is it about the AP classes? You’re the only kid I’ve ever met that’s upset he couldn’t take AP classes in his second semester at a new school.” He adjusted his seated position, he hadn’t sat on the ground in a while and his butt was hurting from the worn down vinyl floor. “They’re gonna figure something out for you, a few days is all it’ll take. Before you know it you’ll get moved into more advanced classes and maybe they can work something out with concurrent enrollment or honors or something close to AP courses. But you don’t need to be in such a rush. If the workload of a couple regular classes is gonna be too light, spend the extra time just… being a kid. Because that’s what you are. And I have a sneaking suspicion you haven’t had a lot of time to do just that.”

There were a few beats of silence before Peter slowly raised his head from his arms. His eyes were red around the rim and shiny with tears that hadn’t fallen yet. He hadn’t meant to get so emotional, but he just wanted to get out of the system as fast as he could. This was one way he thought he could do it, but he just watched it slip through his fingers because he had missed a few too many days of school. “I need the classes to get into college early. Then I can take care of myself.” Peter barely spoke above a whisper and he stared straight ahead instead of looking at Victor.

“You don’t have to though. That’s what we’re here for. You don’t have to be in such a rush to grow up, honestly being an adult isn’t all it’s cracked to be. You’re a kid Peter. You’re fifteen. Understand that. You have your whole life ahead of you to be an adult, but this is the only chance you get to be a kid. And while yeah, it’s not the best childhood, far from it actually, it’s what you got. And Rosa and I and all your foster siblings are gonna do our best to make the last few years of your childhood something good. But you gotta work with us on this. Take the classes, do the work, stay in school. If you do your part, that means we can do a better job doing ours. If we have to chase you around and argue over things like this we aren’t gonna get anywhere. If you just wait it out, you’ll be back in Midtown taking a crazy number of AP classes and being a genius in no time. Alright?”

Peter had listened silently while Victor talked, and while he was still very upset at his classes, Victor’s words had calmed him considerably. He gave a small nod, wiped his eyes, and stood up. Victor followed, but a lot slower and a lot louder as his older body struggled to get back up off the ground.

“Ready to go back in and finish this up? Then we can go get some ice cream, we won't tell anybody else. It’ll just be our secret.” He gave a small smile and wink, and together they walked back into the principal's office to finish registering Peter for classes.

Chapter Text

“Lemme see your schedule!” Freddy shouted the second they were on the bus to school. It was bright and early on a Monday morning. Peter knew that if he didn't show Freddy his schedule the kid would just happen to find it somewhere, so Peter dug it out from his bag and handed it to Freddy. Both Billy and Freddy crowded around to see it.

“Yup! Just what I thought!”

“What?” It had only been two days and Peter didn't think he'd ever spent so much time generally confused.

“This is what I call the foster kid special. It's the same classes they give to every kid that transfers into the high school at a weird time. I got it, Billy got it, even Mary got it.” Billy had continued to scan the schedule while Freddy spoke, reading the class times and teacher names.

“We have chemistry, P.E., lunch, and english together,” Billy commented.

“Wait really?!” If Billy and Peter had those classes together, that meant that Freddy also had P.E. and lunch with Peter as Billy and him shared those periods as well. “Cool, more people at our table. We finally outnumber Beavis and Butthead!’

“Who?” Peter asked, knowing that there couldn’t be two people that actually went by the same names as the classically bad television show characters.

“Brett and Burke Breyer, two stupid older guys that share our lunch period,” Billy explained, “they’re huge assholes, who could still kick our collective asses even if we outnumber them.”

“I mean–” Freddy started.

“They’re bigger and stronger than us and have a car that they like to run people down with.”

“ Had a car. It’s more like a pancake now.” Freddy smashed his hands together to illustrate the pancaking of the car.

Peter wondered what was wrong with his two new foster siblings and why they bickered like that. Peter might not be the best at reading the room outside of when he needed to lighten the mood, but he could tell that there was a secret between them. With how Billy kept insisting that the Breyer guys could kick their ass, Peter knew that there was something they didn’t want Peter to find out.

And after he came to that realization he promptly dropped it. It wasn’t his business and hopefully he wouldn’t be around long enough for it to actually matter. Victor and Rosa were nice, but he knew that nice foster parents could just be a front to get government funding and he’d prefer to get out of the system as soon as possible.

“Shut! Up!” Mrs. Philips shouted, “shut up you insufferable piece of shit!” Mrs. Philips pinched the bridge of her nose and sighed loudly. “ A closed mouth catches no flies, ” she growled out through clenched teeth. Her words were threatening and spoke volumes to the ten year old kid in front of her.

Peter shrunk against her harsh words and his nose stung as a warning that he was about to cry. “I’m sorry…” he hadn’t even realized he had done anything wrong.

“What did I say?!” Her words were venom and held enough force in them to finally push the tears out of Peter’s eyes. “God… now you’re crying… pathetic . What’re you even crying for?! Man up and shut up or I’ll give you something to cry about!”

She raised her hand threateningly and Peter shrunk down even smaller. Both Mr. and Mrs. Philips had hit him a few times, but it was only when he broke stuff or made a mess or argued. He hadn’t been hit for speaking or crying yet. But he knew they would. His heart stuttered in fear and he felt like throwing up, which only served to make him cry even harder.

“Fucking–!” Mrs. Philips brought her hand down hard against Peter’s face, and the little boy fell to the ground, curled into a ball, and sobbed even harder. The louder sobs only served to fuel the raging inferno that was Mrs. Philips’ anger and she sent a kick to the downed child’s side, “shut up!”

Peter choked on his sobs as the kick landed and caused his diaphragm to spasm. Mrs. Philips let out a frustrated groan and left Peter on the floor to cry until he could push himself off the ground and go to the small twin bed he had in his room.

The next morning he had a distinct hand shaped print on his face and discoloration on his side from where the kick bruised him. So Mrs. Philips called him into school sick and got him a pint of ice cream from the store, mumbling apologies and promises that it would never happen again.

It always happened again. And Mrs. Philips always apologized. It only stopped six weeks later when she broke his arm and took him to the hospital after three days of agony. The doctors picked up on the abuse and contacted OFCS to remove him from the home. The case worker was shocked by the knowledge of what had happened to Peter, and she questioned why he didn’t tell anyone sooner.

Peter responded with, “she’s always nice when she isn’t mad.”

The bus pulled up outside of the school and everyone got off and stood together as a group, all the foster kids in a line like ducks in a row. They walked across the street together and into the building, Darla explaining how the school worked.

Peter was very uncomfortable with all the security at the school. Midtown had far looser security, which was probably why it was so easy for him to sneak out, but here the security was tight. There was a guard at seemingly every point of entry or exit and metal detectors in the front.

Darla was still talking after he made it through the metal detector and she held out a hand to him. “Have a good day big brother!”

Peter looked at the hand, eyebrows furrowed in confusion, before he slowly grabbed her hand like a handshake.

Darla squeezed his hand and smiled, “it’s a hand hug! Rosa said I should respect people’s personal space and only do hand hugs until they say I can hug them with my body.”

Peter paused for a minute as he processed what was going on. Not only had Rosa picked up on how uncomfortable he was with touch, especially hugging, she also actively helped make Peter more comfortable. It’d been so long since someone went willingly out of their way to help him like that. It left him with a warm feeling in the pit of his stomach that was something between indigestion and the feeling after drinking warm hot chocolate.

“See you later!” Darla said, letting Peter’s hand go and walking away. Peter watched after her.

“See ya,” he didn’t speak too loudly over the crowd, but she still heard him and gave him a toothy grin and a wave.

Billy watched the whole exchange before grabbing Peter’s attention so that they could head towards their homeroom chemistry class.

“She's a sweetheart,” Billy said with traces of guilt for how he had treated her when he first arrived. “Anyway, we have Ms. Fernandez for chem, she's kinda tough but in a like… caring kinda way.” He wasn't sure how to explain it, he wanted to say it was like the tough love of a mother or older sister, but he didn't really know what that was like. And considering Peter was his foster sibling, he was pretty sure he didn't know either. Peter nodded his head, but didn't say anything so Billy continued, “the class is kinda tough too. I mean, I don't know how much you know about chemistry, but you could probably pick it up quick enough. And if you don't, well… she'd understand.”

Peter's brows furrowed together in confusion. Had Rosa and Victor not told the others about his old school? Before he could explain that he would have absolutely no trouble understanding beginner chemistry, they entered the classroom and took their seats next to each other.

It wasn't long before the bell rang and the class finished filling up with last minute straggler students. The teacher was already at her desk, working through attendance on her laptop until the last of the students arrived.

“Good morning guys,” Ms. Fernandez said, “I hope you guys had a good weekend.” She moved from behind her desk and continued addressing the class. “Today we're welcoming a new student, Peter,” she gestured at him and all eyes snapped to Peter. He shrunk down at the stares, sliding down his seat a little. “I want you all to be nice and help him as we work through this unit. It's one of the more difficult ones that students struggle with.”

Peter couldn't help but bite his lip in amusement. There was no way any unit in beginners chemistry would be difficult for him.

Ms. Fernandez started the lesson. They were learning how to balance chemical equations, something Peter could do in his sleep, so when she was no longer paying attention Peter slipped his phone out of his pocket. He brought up his text thread with Ned and sent him a quick message.

Peter:  

‘Hey sry for radio silence. I got moved’

It wasn't even a full minute before he got a text back.

Ned:

‘I figured when u didn't show up. Where u at?’

Peter:

‘idk. some school called faucet?

fawcett??’

Ned:

‘lolol thats lame’

Peter:

‘ikr! they put me in BEGINNER chem!’

Ned:

‘riiiiip’

“Mr. Parker,” came Ms. Fernandez’ voice, pulling Peter away from his conversation with Ned. He looked up to see her with her hands on her hips. On the board behind her was a sample equation. “I know you're new here, but it should be expected that no one should be on their phone during class.”

“Sorry,” Peter mumbled, slipping his phone back into his pocket as other students gave muffled snickers.

Ms. Fernandez turned back to the board and continued her lesson. It wasn't long before Peter lost all interest–he already knew what she was teaching–and slipped his phone out again. He had three new unread messages from Ned.

Ned:

‘does that mean ur dropping deca??

can u be in deca if ur in another school??

will i compete against u??’

Peter:

‘nah, i can't be in deca :( but im p sure this school doesnt have a team. if it does i wouldnt join lol’

Ned:

‘oh cool lolol’

“Mr. Parker!” Ms. Fernandez spoke with more harshness. “I don't know how you expect to succeed in this course if you spend the entire class period staring at your phone.”

“Sorry, I just– I already know this.”

“You already know how to balance chemical equations?” Ms. Fernandez sounded very doubtful.

“Yes, and I have for years.”

Ms. Fernandez’ mouth formed a thin line. She turned back to the board and wrote out a slightly more complex, yet still simple in Peter's opinion, unbalanced chemical equation.

Billy leaned closer to Peter and aggressively whispered, “what do you think you're doing?”

Before Peter could respond Ms. Fernandez finished writing and turned back to Peter. “Alright then, prove it.”

Peter stood up from his desk chair and walked to the board. He grabbed a marker and balanced the equation with ease, skipping the simple steps beginners would complete to make sure they got the right answer. He had a far deeper knowledge of chemical equations than the average fifteen year old and it was obvious with how quickly he solved it.

Ms. Fernandez’ mouth tightened even more, and Peter realized that maybe he shouldn't have pushed her buttons as much as he did. She went to her desk, flipped through a couple of papers, and came back to write an even more complex equation on the board. Peter balanced that one as well with no hesitation.

Ms. Fernandez was surprised to say the least. “Where were you before you came here?” She sounded genuinely curious and not annoyed like she had when she spotted Peter on his phone.

“Midtown School for Science and Technology… I– I was in their chemistry and engineering program.”

Ms. Fernandez’ eyes went wide. “Then why are you in here? You should be in a far more advanced class.”

Peter shrugged instead of explaining how Fawcett refused to move him to an advanced class despite being obviously prepared for it.

Ms. Fernandez shook her head and let out a few disapproving 'tsk's', however there was a small smile on her face. Her disapproval wasn't directed at Peter, instead it was at the school itself. “Well then, sit back down. I'll talk to one of my colleagues. For the rest of the class stay off your phone, help your peers if you see them struggling.”

Peter slowly made his way back to his desk and sat down. He sunk pretty low in the chair in an attempt to shrink away from the attention he was getting.

Ms. Fernandez spent the rest of the class discussing how to balance equations and leading the students through the first few equations on a worksheet before giving them the last ten minutes to work on it. She wrote the homework pages on the board and said she'd collect the worksheet tomorrow before letting the class out for the day.

Peter had helped Billy and a few other students fill out some questions on the worksheet, but most people left him once the bell rang. Billy stayed and walked with him for a bit, asking question after question about how he knew what he knew and what other subjects he was good at. However, their passing period was only five minutes long and Billy and Peter had to split to go to their separate classes.

Peter saw Billy and Freddy again during gym class. Freddy gave the teacher his physical therapy log before working with an assigned physical therapist for the class. All three boys ended the class sweaty and tired and parted ways for their next class.

The next time Peter saw Billy and Freddy it was during lunch. A high school cafeteria was a war zone, and Peter was a fresh faced new recruit thrown out into the battle. At least in Midtown everyone was a nerd, and while he was bullied there it wasn't that bad compared to what he heard about public schools.

He had dreaded going to lunch since he first got his schedule. At least he had Billy and Freddy, which made it more bearable. He wasn't completely alone, albeit there were only three of them at the whole table .

The food looked completely unappetizing. There were barely passable chicken nuggets and cold soggy fries. There was also a fruit cup and milk. It definitely didn't seem like even remotely enough for a high school student, and yet Peter found it hard to actually want to eat it.

Freddy and Billy were sitting next to him, talking wildly, when two older boys showed up.

“Hey, dipshits,” one of the boys said.

“Brett. Burke.” Freddy frowned annoyedly as he spoke, obviously not a fan. Peter remembered that those were the two boys he had called Beavis and Butthead, and the more he saw of the interaction, the more he realized the nicknames were very fitting. “What do you want? You can’t touch me or you’ll get wedgied into next week.”

“Call off the Red Cyclone.”

“Why? So you could kick my ass again? I’d rather not.”

“Face us like a man, you can’t just stand behind a hero all the time.”

Freddy opened his mouth to retort when a hand landed on both Brett and Burke’s shoulders. Behind them was a young teacher with hair so blond it almost looked white and who gave off an air of authority and command. He looked between the two boys and at the rest sitting around the table. “Why don’t you two run along, get some lunch, finish some work. And if that doesn’t sound fun I could always just send you to the principal’s office.”

Brett and Burke wanted to argue that they hadn’t actually done anything against the rules, but they quickly realized that going to the principal’s office could open the floodgates to getting in trouble for everything else they’ve done. So they left, but not without letting their displeasure be known.

Once they were gone the older man looked at the trio before him. “I’m looking for Peter Parker.”

Both Billy and Freddy’s eyes went to Peter, “uh, yeah that’s me.”

The man smiled, “Ms. Fernandez told me about you. I’ve heard you have a mind for chemistry.”

Peter shrugged, not really sure how to respond without sounding very conceited. “I was in the chemistry track at Midtown. “

“Well, isn’t that just fantastic. I think I can help get you into a more advanced class or even just the materials for the class. That way you can have something to keep yourself busy."

Peter found himself smiling without even realizing it. This teacher he’d never seen before was being extremely nice to him just because he heard that Peter was intelligent. “That– that’d actually be really cool.”

“Perfect!” The teacher clapped his hands together and smiled. “If you want we could talk more about this in my office. You can finish your lunch there and if we go a little after I can write you a pass.”

“Yes! Uh, yeah, sure.” Peter stood up, swinging his backpack onto his back and grabbing his paper lunch tray. He faced the older man, gripping his tray tightly in excitement. Finally, something seemed alright. He would be getting into a class that he liked, and if not then at least he’d be able to teach himself. Someone was finally willing to help him learn instead of just telling him to wait and enjoy the easy classes. “This is so cool, really. Thank you Mr… uh…”

“Westcott.”

Chapter Text

Peter followed Mr. Westcott out of the cafeteria and into a small office, all the while holding onto his lunch tray like the excited child he was. The room held multiple desks, it was the shared office for the majority of the science department at Fawcett, which meant there wasn't much room to move around. Nonetheless, each teacher had their own small desk and workspace. Mr. Westcott pulled out a chair for Peter who promptly sat down and deposited his lunch tray on the desk in front of him. Mr. Westcott sat on the opposite side, his masters degree in chemistry displayed proudly on the wall behind him in a humble frame.

Peter took a bite of one of the soggy fries as Mr. Westcott got settled in his desk chair, and even the lackluster fry couldn't upset him right now.

“So, you transferred here from Midtown?”

“Yeah, today is actually my first day.” Peter fiddled with the sleeves of his jacket to burn off some of the excited energy he felt. “I'm really hoping to get back into– go back to Midtown in the fall.”

“Well, I can hopefully make your time here more worthwhile.” Mr. Westcott smiled and leaned back in his chair. “Tell me, what were you learning before you transferred?”

“Uh,” Peter looked up and away, trying to remember what he had last done in class. “I think we were working on, like, the structure of molecules. Molecular geometry. That's the last thing I remember doing.”

Mr. Westcott nodded in thought. “That's pretty advanced for a freshman.”

“Well I'm pretty advanced for a freshman so…” he shrugged and picked at his soggy fries. He wasn't often one to brag, but so far no one, sans Mr. Westcott, understood that he was so far beyond beginner's chemistry.

“Do you want something else to eat?”

“What? I mean yeah, but… that's all the cafeteria had.”

Mr. Westcott shook his head and laughed before pulling out his cellphone. “I can get food delivered.”

“What? No, no, no! You don't have to do that.” Peter didn't want anyone to spend money on him, especially not someone he just met who was already willing to help him.

“I know I don't have to,” Mr. Westcott said without looking up from his phone, “I want to.”

“Um… I– I already have food though.”

“I wouldn't call that food. What're you thinking? McDonalds or Chinese?” When Peter didn't respond Mr. Westcott looked up from his phone with an expression that showed there was no room for argument. “I insist.”

“...McDonalds.” Normally Peter would have preferred Chinese food, but he could get something off of the dollar menu from McDonald's since Mr. Westcott wouldn't let him refuse the offer of food. After a few more rounds of back and forth about what to get the food was ordered and the delivery app said it would arrive within the next twenty minutes. Just enough time for Peter to get the food before he'd have to head back to class.

They continued to talk as they waited for their food, and the more they talked the more comfortable Peter felt. It had been so long since someone had praised his intelligence so adamantly. The teachers at Midtown knew he was smart, but they were also annoyed with how often he skipped school. Other students seemed annoyed by his intelligence, but also by his general disposition. Mr. Westcott, however, just brought up challenging and complex theories and proceeded to look on in wonder as Peter talked about what he knew. For the first time, in a very long while, Peter felt like he could just talk without fear of punishment. Mr. Westcott wouldn't hit him, yell at him, or complain about him.

They talked until their lunch arrived and then they continued to talk as they walked to the front office to pick it up. As they sat down in the lobby for the last few minutes of lunch they were still talking, not wanting to finish even as the bell sounded and signaled the end of the current lunch period and the start of passing period.

“Peter, you really are something special. I'd go even so far as to say you're a modern day Einstein.” Mr. Westcott looked at Peter with genuine admiration before standing up. “I hate to cut this short, but we both have classes to get to. I'm gonna do my best to figure something out for you. Your potential cannot be wasted in a beginners chemistry class. Swing by my office after school and hopefully I'll have something by then.” Mr. Westcott held out a hand and Peter stood up to shake it.

“Thank you so much Mr. Westcott. Really.”

“Call me Steven– actually, you can call me Skip. It’s what my friends call me. But not around any administration. They don't like it when teachers and students aren’t professional. They don’t want any cross generational friendships forming.”

Friendship.

Were they becoming friends? They had just spent an entire lunch period talking about a mutual interest; something he had only done before with Ned and he considered Ned a dear friend.

“Oh yeah, uh right. Thank you mist– Skip.”

“I’ll see you later Einstein.” Skip said, walking into the growing crowd of students. Peter sighed, finishing his lunch and throwing the bags away before walking to his next class.

Peter spent the rest of the school day way too excited. He was continuously bouncing his legs and fidgeting with his school supplies. He had been easily distracted in chemistry, but now he was far too focused. Only he wasn’t focused on class.

There were a few more painful new student introductions and boring classes until the final bell rang and Peter nearly ran out of his final class. But he shared his last period, English, with Billy. And Billy stopped him before he could leave. “C’mon, we gotta catch the bus back home.”

“I’m not going home,” Peter said, not realizing what it sounded like until he saw Billy’s alarmed face. “I mean, I will. I’ll go back to the house later. I gotta meet with a teacher right now though.”  

“Did you already get detention?”

“No!” He was bouncing on his feet, excited to get back to talking about chemistry and other scientific fields with someone who both understood and listened to him. “Remember the teacher that took me during lunch? He’s gonna try to get me into a more advanced class. Fawcett won’t let me take any AP classes as a freshman.”

“Oh,” Billy paused. Chewing on the inside of his cheek. Victor and Rosa had told Billy about Peter’s tendency to run away, and to keep an eye on him. They had hoped that since Billy had been the same way barely a month ago he could help show Peter that it was a safe place for him to stay and just be a kid while he still can. Nonetheless, the inviting atmosphere Victor and Rosa wanted didn’t negate the fact that Peter has, on multiple occasions, fled from school. They wanted Billy to make sure that Peter came home right after school with the whole family, instead of trying to run off. “Well, we really take the school bus home altogether, ya’know. If you miss it you’ll have to get home by yourself.”

Peter nodded, “I know the bus routes. I’ll be fine.” And with that Peter walked away from Billy and through the crowd in the quickest path to get to Skip’s office.

Billy sighed, leaving the building to meet the rest of his family out front.

“Hey Billy!” Darla greeted him excitedly. He smiled and waved back at her.

“Hey. Where’s Peter? Don’t you have a final period with him?” Mary asked. Victor and Rosa had told her too, being the oldest and often the one in charge if Victor and Rosa weren’t around, she needed to know that Peter was a flight risk if they ever had to temporarily leave the kids in her care.

“Yeah, I do. I told him that we take the bus home together, but he said he had a meeting with a teacher.”

“Did he already get in trouble?!” Eugene exclaimed. “That’s gotta be a record!”

“No, he said he’s trying to get into a higher level chem class or something. He’s apparently really smart.”

“Oh wait, was that why that one teacher took him at lunch? Uh… Mr. Westcott, right?” Freddy asked, scrunching up his face when he tried to think of the name. Billy nodded.

“Mr. Westcott?” Mary sounded confused. “That’s my AP chem teacher. He's cool, but…”

“So he didn't get in trouble? Yay!” Darla shouted, throwing her hands up. “I can make him a poster! It'll look all science-y! And pink!”

“A poster for what?” Pedro said, walking up behind his foster family. He had only heard the end of Darla's statement. His teacher had needed to talk to him about getting help outside of school to improve his test grades.

“Peter's a genius!” Darla shouted.

“Hey! He didn't call him a genius,” Freddy retorted.

“You're a genius, Peter,” Skip said, leaning forward on his desk, “a real Einstein. But I can't put you in an AP class. The system still recognizes you as a freshman and keeps blocking my request, even when I put in that you have the needed prerequisites and teacher approval. And since I'm only a teacher I can't override it. I'm sorry.” Peter visibly deflated at Skip's words, he had really been looking forward to doing something more challenging. “Hear me out though, we can set up some outside, quote-unquote, uh, ‘tutoring sessions’ where I can teach you more advanced, college level chemistry. It wouldn't count towards an AP credit, but you wouldn't be behind when you go back to Midtown.”

“I mean… I guess that works...” He was still disappointed that he wouldn't be able to take the classes he wanted and get credit for them. He leaned back in his chair, slumping a little in disappointment.

Skip frowned and leaned back as well, but in thought instead. “You know, my AP classes are going on a field trip to Oscorp to tour their chemical research and development department. They've been working on some pretty crazy stuff there and the AP students have been working so hard lately that I thought it'd be a nice trip.” Peter stared at Skip, slight confusion etched in his face. So, he continued, “the thing about field trips is that you don’t technically have to be a part of the class to go on one. So say if a freshman got their hands on a permission slip, got it signed by their parent or guardian, and got on the bus... they could go with the AP chemistry class to Oscorp, no problem.”

Peter’s eyes grew wide as he caught onto what Skip was saying, he started to smile and Skip smiled back.

The older man opened one of his desk drawers and dug around in it until he pulled out a small permission slip for the field trip. He set it on the desk between them. “I can’t stay and chat for much longer, I’m very busy after school most of the time. I coach the elementary school boys soccer team here at Fawcett and practice is gonna start in the next fifteen minutes so I have to go change and lead them through some drills.” Skip stood up as he spoke, grabbing his bag from behind the desk. “But I’ll come grab you from lunch again tomorrow if you’d like. That way we can work out a meeting schedule for tutoring and maybe even draft up a little lesson plan. Sound good?”

Peter was looking at the permission slip while Skip talked. He hadn’t grabbed it yet, still surprised that Skip was going to let him go on the AP Chemistry field trip. He only looked up when Skip asked his question. “Yeah– yes, it’s perfect. I hate the cafeteria,” Peter mumbled the last bit more to himself than to Skip. Skip chuckled nonetheless and walked past Peter, playfully patting him on the shoulder as he went.

“You should probably get going, security doesn’t like it when kids are in the school without a teacher or club.” And with that, he left. And Peter sat in the chair for a few more moments, looking at the permission slip. He grabbed it and put it in his bag, hoping Victor and Rosa would be fine with it– and if they weren’t he would just forge their signatures– before standing up and making his way out of the school.

It wasn’t until he got off of the public bus three blocks away from the house that he realized he hadn’t even flinched when Skip touched him.

Chapter Text

Victor and Rosa couldn't be mad at Peter for not coming home with everyone else; they had never told him explicitly that he had to. Besides that, he showed them the permission slip for the field trip and that helped to solidify his alibi of meeting with a teacher. So instead they just asked him to come home with everyone else from then on, and if he needs to stay after again to just give them a text or call so they know.

Victor was happy to sign the permission slip, Peter wanting to go on a field trip showed that he had at least some level of engagement at Fawcett. That was a marked improvement compared to sulking about not attending Midtown. Victor was also quick to point out that he had signed the same permission slip just last week for Mary, it was good to have someone there keeping an eye on Peter during his adjustment period to their home. Peter didn't find it as amazing as Victor and Rosa did.

The next day Skip came at lunch to take Peter to his office, just like he said he would.  Peter was already standing by the entrance of the cafeteria. He held a completely unappetizing tray of questionable meatloaf and room temperature corn, and argued with the security guard that wouldn't let him leave without a teacher. After Skip arrived, the security guard was forced to let Peter leave. Together they walked to his office, where two bags of still warm McDonald's sat on his desk. Since Peter hadn't been there to convince Skip otherwise, Peter's bag contained food that definitely wasn't on the dollar menu.

“I'm usually very busy after school with either coaching or office hours for my students to ask questions. But if you're free over the weekends I can usually do Saturday or Sunday afternoons,” Skip spoke between eating his fries. He was leaning his elbows on the desk, shirt sleeves rolled up. The atmosphere was far more casual than yesterday.

“The weekend?” Peter wasn't thrilled about attending a pseudo-class over his weekends, but if it was his only option he would. “I mean sure, but I'd have to talk to my– um…” Peter awkwardly looked away, closing in on himself. He wasn't embarrassed about being a foster kid per se, but he didn't really like telling people. Once someone knew he was in the system they tended to treat him differently. Whether they meant to or not.

“Guardians? Victor and Rosa Vasquez right?” Skip said casually, not having any problem with Peter being a foster kid. Peter nodded, realizing that Skip had easy access to his school file, including information about whoever was put as his parent/guardian. “I've met them before, lovely couple.”

Peter's body language closed off just as Skip said that. It wasn't that Victor and Rosa weren't good foster parents, in fact they were amazing foster parents, but he couldn't help but feel trapped in a way. He knew that they were worried he'd run off, and no matter how much they genuinely tried to interact with him he felt distrustful. Every time he felt like he could trust any previous foster parent, they always proved otherwise. Suffice to say that he didn't easily trust anyone in charge of him.

But Skip wasn't in charge of him, in fact they were on nickname basis. Skip never asserted his authority over Peter, they were on equal ground. And even if Skip was a teacher with a master's degree and Peter was a high school student with nothing to his name, Skip wasn't his teacher. He was just someone who wanted to help him stay on track in a shitty situation.

“Mary's in my class,” Skip said and Peter nodded, he put that together after finding out that Mary was going on the same trip. “They know me, I actually wrote a letter of recommendation for her. She's a good kid, very smart.” Peter wasn't really responding, he only shrugged, still closed off due to the mention of his foster parents. Skip leaned back, taking a fry with him as he went, before speaking again. “I could talk to them about it if you don't want to. I'm assuming they know how much you want to–no, need to–do more advanced stuff than what's available to you in beginners chem.” He dipped his fry in ketchup and pointed it at Peter, getting a small smile from the kid. “I bet I could explain it in a way that would make them love the idea.” Skip ate the fry and watched as Peter opened up a little, like a budding flower soon to bloom.

“You’d do that?”

“Of course, anything for an Einstein like you.”

The next few days until the field trip were very tedious for Peter. The classes were all boring, if not downright humiliating. He hated playing dodgeball in gym class; it was just like every cliché high school movie he’d ever seen and he was cast as the bullied nerd. Billy hadn't fared much better, but he at least got a few kids out and didn't have to puff his inhaler like a nicotine addicted teen in the school bathroom. That was a net win compared to Peter's experience. Even worse, Skip couldn't grab him for lunch everyday. He was stuck eating crappy school food and listening to Beavis and Butthead yelling slurs across the cafeteria.

It wasn’t until the Thursday night before the field trip that Peter got word of Skip talking to Rosa and Victor about their weekend study sessions. He had been working on Spanish homework–he always struggled with conjugation–when he received a message via his school email. It was a confirmation of his new weekend tutoring schedule. The service was usually reserved for kids struggling to keep at grade level, and the wording of the generic email made that very obvious, but Peter knew what that meant. He’d be getting advanced chemistry lessons from Skip. He could finally get a real challenge. He abandoned his homework and went to go watch Freddy and Billy play video games. They had been playing on mute out of respect for Peter working, but when he came to watch–not saying a word–they unmuted the game and continued playing in quiet, brotherly solidarity.  

The next day Peter showed up with unfinished Spanish homework that he wouldn't even have to turn in until Monday. He walked with Billy to his first period chemistry class, reminded Ms. Fernandez that he was going on the AP Chemistry field trip, and promptly left to meet with Skip's classes in the front of the school.

Mary, who Peter had just seen before going with Billy, was already there along with a few other students. He nodded at her and she smiled back. He didn't see Skip out here yet, or really anyone he knew besides Mary. 

As more students and eventually teachers showed up Peter realized that he was definitely the youngest of the group. There were two sophomores taking AP Chemistry in the entire group, but Peter was the only freshman and that made him feel very alone. So he slowly made his way over to Mary and her friend group, growing increasingly nervous as the space between them shrank. 

"Hey!" Mary said, genuine and happy to see Peter, "You excited?"

Peter nodded, but his anxiety was clear as day. So Mary turned to her friends, "so guys, this is one of my little brothers," she introduced him, "Peter. He's like a chemistry whiz."

Peter felt like he was levitating. Mary had introduced him like he was her biological brother, and her friends had no questions or concerns about it. They introduced themselves in a genuine and kind way, no bullying or teasing or off-hand comments. He didn't really appreciate getting called 'little man' by one of the boys, but he was the shortest there so it wasn't necessarily wrong . Still, they were Mary's friends, not Peter's. And he found that after the introduction there wasn't much he wanted to say to them. 

When Skip showed up Peter slipped away and stuck near him. He was the only person Peter knew, sans Mary, and the person he felt the most comfortable with. Skip insisted that he didn't mind, and let Peter talk to him the whole ride to Oscorp. The rest of the trip was filled with older teenagers, Skip didn't need to guide them or entertain them on the trip. The bus would take them part of the way, but they'd take the subway into Manhattan. The most Skip and the other teachers  had to do was make sure everyone got on and off together. So when Peter started to apologize for talking his ear off the whole time, Skip just waved it off and said it gave him something to listen to.

When they arrived at Oscorp Peter was awestruck. He'd seen the building many, many times from the outside, but never with the intention of entering. It made him nervous and excited all at once, so much so that he couldn't help but bounce on the balls of his feet when they entered and were shuffled to the elevators to go to the chemical research and development floors. A hand fell on his shoulder and Peter flinched at the contact. He stopped bouncing immediately, but when he looked to see who had touched him, it was Skip and the spike of fear faded. Skip's hand stayed on Peter's shoulder the whole ride up, and while he wasn't exactly comfortable with the touch, he didn't shy away from it either.

The doors opened high in the Manhattan skyline to reveal a long hallway with multiple doors and large viewing windows on either side. The tour guide, a young lady Peter had paid no attention to, started to explain the layout.

“This is our main R and D floor for chemical and biological engineering. Since you all are AP chemistry students we'll be spending most of our time on the chemical side,” she said before leading the group out of the elevator. She directed them through the first door on the left and continued to explain what that room was for.

The rest of the tour continued just like that, going from one room to another all on the left side of the hallway. Each room focused on different projects, and there was a lot of crossover between the biological and chemical side. Oscorp's main focus currently was to chemically synthesize naturally occurring biological properties and processes to help solve daily problems. Their main competitor at the moment was Stark Industries, but even then Stark Industries focused mainly on the mechanical side of things versus Oscorps chemical and biological view. Wayne Biotech and Wayne Chemical were also contenders, but they couldn't take the subway into Gotham.

At around noon the tour paused for lunch in the buildings cafeteria. Everyone received a meal voucher and was told to meet by the elevators in an hour to finish the tour. Peter took his voucher and got a considerably good looking sandwich compared to what he normally got at school and a few sides before looking for a place to sit and eat. First Mary offered to let Peter sit with her and her friends, but he refused and instead went to look for Skip.

When he found Skip he was sitting with another AP chemistry teacher who had come on the trip and a scientist from Oscorp who was on her break. When Skip saw Peter he waved in greeting and went right back to talking with no indication that he wanted Peter to sit with him. In fact, there were no more seats left at their table and Skip didn't move to make more room.

Peter felt anxiety coil around the base of his spine like a snake and each second he stood there with his lunch tray the snake got tighter. He knew it was irrational, Skip was an adult who wanted to talk with other adults. He could go back and sit with Mary, but he didn't know her friends and he would feel awkward. It was just like the school cafeteria, but now he didn't have Ned or even Freddy and Billy to be loser's with.

Before he knew it he was moving, speed walking away from Skip's table and out of the cafeteria as silently as his worn down sneakers would allow; setting his lunch down as he went. He had a little less than an hour to cool down somewhere, he wanted–no he needed–to enjoy the rest of the field trip, anxiety be damned.

He wandered, doing his best to stay out of sight of any passing scientists or guards, and eventually he found what looked like an empty room on the right side of the hall. The room was rather dark save for a dim blue light that lined the walls. Unlike the chemistry rooms on the left there were no large windows into other rooms or the hallway. Jutting out from the sides were dozens of tanks stacked on top of each other. Peter, ever curious, stepped closer to see what was in the tanks, the light too dim to see from a distance.

At first he couldn’t see anything, just a small terrarium, and he assumed whatever was in there was hiding. But as he looked closer he saw the glint of webs reflecting off the dim blue light and he realized it was spiders. He looked around for any markings on the tanks and to his horror he discovered that he was in a room full of spiders in tanks. He shivered in disgust and instead of being curious as to why Oscorp had so many spiders, he decided to worry about it when he was not surrounded by the creepy arachnids.

As he turned to leave he heard a distant explosion that rocked the entire building. Suddenly alarms blared to life and Peter scrambled to the door only to realize that it was locked shut. The building was in lockdown, and Peter was stuck in a room full of spiders.

Another explosion sounded, closer this time, and the building shook even more. Things started to fall from shelves and Peter hoped that the tanks were well fastened. However, his Parker Luck struck again and all it took was one more explosion to send a few tanks careening to the ground and shattering on impact.

Peter started banging on the door and yelling to hopefully get someone’s attention. He was now more afraid of the mysterious spiders than he was of getting in trouble for being somewhere he wasn’t supposed to be.

It wasn’t until there was another explosion and more tanks shattered against the ground that a security guard was able to get the door unlocked for Peter. The kid ran out, shaking everything he could to get off any spiders that had crawled on him, before noticing the siren and lights going off in the hallway.

“Kid! What were you doing in there?!” The guard shouted over the blaring alarm, taking Peter’s attention from the flashing lights.

“I– uh, bathroom!” Peter said, hoping the chaos would let his lie pass by easier. The guard only glared before grabbing Peter’s arm rougher than necessary and dragging him down the flights of stairs until they made it into a bunker with the rest of the students.

Peter had to kneel with his head down like in the school drills for a total of ten minutes before everything was deemed safe enough for them to leave. Despite everyone being safe they ended the tour early and sent the students back, while chaos happened regularly in New York that didn’t mean everyone could just move on after every incident.

Mary came up to him when they were outside, she looked stressed, but all Peter could concern himself with was trying to figure out what had happened while he was in the spider room.

“Where were you?!” She sounded nearly hysterical. “No one could find you when the alarm went off?!”

“I– I…” Peter swallowed thickly, suddenly feeling very lightheaded. So much that he didn’t notice Skip approaching.

“Hey, you didn’t get hurt up there right? We were all really worried about you when we couldn’t find you,” Skip’s voice was calm and collected compared to Mary’s stressed tone.

“‘M fine…” he mumbled, blinking a few times to clear his head, “I just feel a little weird…”

“Maybe it’s shock?” Skip tried, and Peter shrugged. He rubbed his hands together to ease some of the anxious energy he was feeling, but he felt a sharp pain when his hand ran over something round.

He had to bite his tongue to keep from shouting, and he looked down to see a nasty looking spider bite firmly on the back of his hand, the two holes where the fangs entered clearly visible. He wondered how he could've missed it, but he had been full of adrenaline when the building started to shake and the spiders were released that he probably could've been stabbed and not noticed. He swallowed thickly, hoping above all hope that those spiders weren’t venomous. He looked back up just in time to hear Mary finishing her sentence.

“-do that again, if– if something were to happen to you I’d–”

“You’d get in trouble with Rosa and Victor.” Peter frowned immediately, slightly annoyed. Perhaps it was the fact that he didn’t feel very good, but he didn’t enjoy Mary pretending like she gave a shit about him. “Don’t act like you care about me! You’re not my sister. You’ve known me for a few days.”

“Doesn’t mean I don’t care,” Mary's words were quiet and she looked hurt at Peter’s accusation. Peter was too light headed to feel any guilt for his words.

“Hey guys, please, no fighting. We’ve had enough trouble for one day,” Skip said, acting as an intermediary. “Let’s just get back to Queens. A bus was sent to pick us up because of… well, what just happened. So we can just… chill, the whole way, alright? Then we can all go home and just relax. Enjoy the weekend.” Skip placed a hand on Peter’s shoulder, and while Peter initially flinched he didn’t fight it. He could feel a stabbing headache coming on and had no more strength to argue. So he just nodded and let Skip guide him and Mary to the pick up spot.

When the bus arrived Peter climbed in, sat down, and fell asleep within a minute of the bus driving away. He didn’t wake up until he was outside of the home.

Victor and Rosa were waiting for him, they looked annoyed but also worried. Someone had told them about him being away from the group. He didn’t know if it was Mary or a teacher, but it didn’t help his already sour mood one bit.

“Peter, you just can’t do that. We trusted you to go on this field trip, that you could handle yourself with maturity in the city. And you ran off, no one could find you. Would you have come back if the building wasn’t in lockdown?” Victor paced in front of Peter, whose vision kept losing focus no matter how many times he adjusted his glasses.

“Yeah, I was just tryna– I had to go to the bathroom.”

Rosa shook her head, a solemn look on her face. “We know that’s a lie Peter…”

“In any case, we’re more upset that you snapped at Mary than you going off on your own.” Victor crossed his arms in front of himself. “She was worried about you, she was scared that you were off somewhere hurt, and you accused her of not caring. In this household we work together, we care for each other.”

Peter looked down at his hands and the still swollen spider bite, expecting to get kicked out, and he didn’t have enough fight left in him to argue.

“I need you to think about your words and work on an apology for Mary.”

“What?” Peter looked up, and the movement caused a wave of nausea to crash over him. “That’s it?” He had expected to get kicked out.

“No, that’s not it. You’re going to have to do a few extra chores and earn our trust again. We still need to talk about what this means for you and your tutoring. We’ve also been pretty lenient when it comes to school since we understand it’s hard to transition to a new school and new home, but we’ve been getting complaints and–”

“Can we do this later?” Peter interrupted, he was staring at the ground and he could feel anxiety spike in his chest. “I can’t–” he swallowed thickly, “I don’t feel so good.”

“Do you think we were born yesterday?” Victor shook his head, “Rosa and I did the same thing when we didn’t wanna talk, so has every kid here. You need to face this now Peter, or–” Victor was interrupted by Peter bolting from his chair and running full speed to the trash can where he proceeded to throw up, to the surprise of both Victor, Rosa, and all the kids eavesdropping on the other side of the door.

“Oh…” was the only thing Victor could think of saying before Rosa jumped in.

She gently approached Peter, wary of his aversion to touch, and leaned down close to him as he coughed and spit into the trash can. “Hey, hey, it’s okay. Let it out. Why don’t you put on your pajamas and just lay down for a bit? We can talk once you’re feeling better.”

Peter nodded and after a few long moments of gasping into the trash can he stood up and Victor and Rosa left so he could change.

He crawled into his bed and Rosa came back with some medicine, he took it at her insistence, drank some gatorade, and promptly fell asleep.

Chapter Text

Billy didn't have to wait for an alert from Superman to know that something was going on. Despite being on a different island than Oscorp, Fawcett went into a modified lockdown and everyone's phones started to ping with alerts. There was a superpowered individual in Manhattan causing trouble. They were far enough away that Fawcett administration wasn't worried about them coming to the school, but they knew better than to throw caution to the wind when it came to metas and other enhanced individuals. Besides, he had a form of hovercraft that seemed to move very fast and it was better to be safe than sorry.

Modified lockdown meant Billy had to be sneaky and quick. People could move inside the building, but no one could enter or exit. Luckily, the modified lockdown occurred right before his passing period into lunch, so he ducked into the boys bathroom, waited for it to clear out, then shouted Shazam and used his strength to get through the locked windows.

He flew as quick as he could to Manhattan and it was easy to spot the maniac flying about on a weird hoverboard thing. Below him Manhattan continued like normal, unbothered by the near constant small supervillain attacks. He approached the maniac slowly and spoke loud enough for the other to hear.

“Hey, Aladdin, can you and your magic carpet cool it?” Billy was proud of that line, but the pride quickly turned to disgust as the maniac turned around to face Billy and made his disturbingly disproportionate green face visible.

“The Red Cyclone,” the green man's voice came out more like a hiss than normal speech, “Maximum Voltage, The Human Powerstorm, Captain Marvel. You are a man with many names. Tell me which one I should have inscribed on your tombstone!” The green man yelled before leaning forward on his hoverboard and hurtling himself towards Billy.

Billy dodged, a little startled by the sudden attack, but not at all surprised. He was a hero and this guy was obviously a villain. It was only natural. “Yeah, yeah. I'm not even sure if I can die.” Billy taunted, he was bulletproof. That didn't make him immortal, but it made him a lot less mortal than other people. “What should I call you though? Wicked Witch of the West?”

“I am The Green Goblin! And I will be your downfall!”

Billy huffed at the fact this guy already had a name and he still hadn't committed to one after a month. The Green Goblin charged him again and Billy moved out of the way, laughing. “You're trying that again?!” He mocked, but The Green Goblin just smiled back, and that's when he heard it.

Beep.

Beep.

Beep.

His side exploded into flames that threw him towards the ground. He caught himself a few stories up and looked at the spot on his side that had exploded. It was unfazed, and despite being thrown off he felt pretty unfazed too. He flew back up to face The Green Goblin, considerably more annoyed.

“Haha, funny trick. My turn.” He flew towards the villain, lining up a punch that would be strong enough to maim but not enough to kill. At least he hoped. He'd become quite good at controlling his strength in the past month, but he didn't know how much the guy could take.

He threw his punch, but The Green Goblin ducked out of the way at the last second with inhuman speed, placed his hand on Billy's side, and struck him with a sharp burst of explosive electricity.

Billy, with his own set of electric powers, shook the attack off easily, only getting thrown back slightly by the force. “That's all you got?” Billy goaded, earning a sneer from The Green Goblin. Billy pointed his finger at the other's flying board and sent a lightning bolt right to it. “Two can play at that game!”

The lightning hit its mark and the glider sputtered before starting to lose altitude. The goblin jumped off the glider and at Billy with a growl. Billy went to grab the goblin to keep him from latching onto Billy or falling to his death, but during his attempt to keep the menace an arms length away, something was shoved into his mouth.

Beep.

Beep.

Beep.

Before Billy could spit the object out it exploded in a concussive wave that threw Billy back. He released the goblin as he went, who jumped back onto the recovering glider. It was dipping dangerously low, but the goblin remained firmly on it despite it sputtering out over and over again. Billy, however, hit the ground. He shook the attack off and stood back up, but before he could fly back into the air to attack, his vision swam and he listed to the side.

He blinked a few times to clear his head, but it did nothing to help. He stumbled a bit and when he tried to focus again there were multiple Green Goblins all around him. His eyes widened at the sudden appearance of multiple goblins; were they a species? How had he not noticed them before?

He didn't dwell for long and instead decided that attacking now and figuring it out later was the best option, especially before any more explosives were thrown his way. He took a step forward so that he could fly up and attack them, but when his foot landed it sunk into the ground like it was made of quicksand. He struggled against it, but even with all of his strength he couldn't get it out. There was a chorus of maniacal laughter from the horde of goblins surrounding him before they all charged at him.

He threw his hands up and over his face on instinct and waited for the onslaught of gliders and probable explosions.

And he waited.

And he waited a bit more.

And nothing happened.

He lowered his hands and looked around, there wasn't a Green Goblin in sight. The horde was replaced by scared civilians coming out to check if the coast was clear. When he looked behind him he realized that his foot was no longer trapped in the ground and it was back to being normal asphalt. The civilians around him looked on, losing fear by the second and slipping out their phones to capture photos and videos of the confused hero.

Billy nodded and waved to them awkwardly before jumping to fly up, he was still confused about what happened and didn't want to risk taking another step.

As he flew up he looked at the damage caused to the nearby skyscraper–mostly just broken windows–and quickly realized that it was Oscorp. He froze for a second, realizing that Mary and Peter were in that building. He wanted to check on them, make sure they were okay, but if his school in Queens was on lockdown then Oscorp definitely was and he wouldn't be able to get in without causing a commotion. Not to mention the building's structural integrity was fine, which meant that the occupants were also fine. Probably. He left instead and went back to school, which was just as hard to sneak into as it was to sneak out of, despite the modified lockdown being over.

By the time he made it back, lunch was over and Billy got a tardy to his next class, he couldn't really pay attention in class anyway. He had spent his entire lunch fighting a bad guy, and being a superhero burned a lot of calories. He was starving by the time school ended and the second he got home he made himself two ham and cheese sandwiches before he answered any of Freddy's questions, of which there were many.

Peter threw up three more times that night, which sucked since he only had ginger ale, soup, and saltines in his stomach. He would wake up in a cold sweat before sprinting to the bathroom as quietly as he could so as to not wake up his roommates. He didn't get any more than five hours of sleep, and when he woke up at three in the morning due to a lurching stomach he realized he probably won't be able to attend tutoring tomorrow– today. Not only were Victor and Rosa disappointed in him–and that stung a lot more than other foster parents he'd had for a week–but if he didn't feel better by morning he wasn't sure he could make it there in the first place.

He sat on the floor by the toilet as his stomach calmed itself and looked at the spider bite on the back of his hand. He frowned, he might have to tell them about the bite. If he was this sick it might've been a venomous spider. He shuddered at the thought of the hospital and the memories that accompanied it. He remembered being told at nine while he sat in a hospital that his uncle had passed away, and not long after his aunt too. He remembered having his already healing broken arm set before being taken away from Mrs. Phillips at ten. He remembered getting his stomach pumped after swallowing a bottle of pain medication to get away from Mr. Moran and his belt and his locked doors. The hospital wasn't a good place to go, and he didn't feel like he could ask Victor and Rosa even if he wanted to. He could take care of himself.

He ran his hand over the bite and his stomach lurched again when he made contact, but he didn't throw up. He went to adjust his glasses, but his fingers only touched his face. He had jumped out of bed in such a rush that he hadn't grabbed his glasses. He paused in confusion, realizing that he could see just fine without them. He blinked a few times, but the clarity didn't change. He could still see the two holes from the fangs in stark detail.

He stood up slowly and examined his face in the mirror. He was sweaty and had big bags under his eyes, but he wasn't blurry. He could practically see his pores and the nearly invisible hairs on his face that signaled puberty. He leaned against the counter and looked closer in the mirror, he could see so much detail. He looked different without glasses, he'd worn them for as long as he could remember. He shook his head again, guessing that it must be a weird effect from being so sick. He went to go back to bed, but when he tried to walk away from the counter his hands were stuck.

He tugged on the cheap countertop, but his hands remained firmly stuck. He cursed, assuming that Darla or another one of the younger kids had gotten some really sticky super glue around the sink. He didn't have the patience to try and get his hands unstuck safely, so he gave a hard tug and prepared to lose the first few layers of skin. But when he tugged his hands came off the counter and a bit of the cheap countertop covering came with it. He looked at his hands and shook them aggressively until the countertop covering fell off. He took a few deep breaths and hurried to bed, hoping he was still asleep and that it had all been an oddly realistic dream.

Come next morning Peter shot awake from a very loud squeaking sound. He looked around and spotted Rosa standing in the doorway. She froze, the door half opened, when Peter shot up. She looked surprised.

“I didn’t think the hinges were loud enough to wake you,” she said, and Peter rubbed his ears. Everything sounded louder. “It’s okay though, you need to be up so I can give you medicine.” She fully entered the room and she was carrying a small tray with soup, pills, water, and a thermometer. She set the tray down next to his bed, he glanced up at Billy and Freddy’s bunk bed, they were gone– probably downstairs with everyone else.

Rosa reached out to feel Peter’s forehead, but before she could make contact Peter leaned away involuntarily. Rosa frowned but kept her hand up. “I just want to see if you’re still warm.” Peter nodded, he hadn’t meant to move away. It was just a reaction. He was a little embarrassed and his cheeks flushed the tiniest bit pink.

Rosa reached out again and her hand landed on his forehead. He could feel the heat radiating off of her hand. He could feel every crease in her palm. He shuddered at the level of sensory input he was getting.   

“Huh, strange,” Rosa murmured, “you feel fine.” She took out the thermometer and put it under Peter’s tongue, when it beeped she took it out and looked at the temperature. Her brows furrowed in confusion, “your fever’s gone. That was quick. How’s your stomach?”

“My stomach? It’s… fine,” he hadn’t thought about it yet, but his stomach felt normal, he actually felt pretty great overall. “I actually feel okay.”

Rosa examined the thermometer a bit more before handing Peter the soup. “You seem better, maybe it was just a stomach bug. Still eat that though, and tell me if you start to feel bad again.”

Peter looked at the soup, he actually felt hungry which he rarely felt when sick. “Can I still go to tutoring? I mean, I actually feel better.”

Rosa paused in thought, “you're not just pretending to feel better to leave right?” Peter shook his head no, and Rosa sighed. “Yeah, you can go. If–and only if–you don't get nauseous before you leave. If you feel even slightly unwell I'm putting you back in this bed until you feel better.” She smiled after speaking, obviously meaning it more as a joke, but her words still held some truth in them.

Peter nodded and took a spoonful of soup. He swallowed it and his stomach stayed settled. He took another spoonful, and another, feeling hunger take over. Before long he had finished the soup and drank the water. Rosa stood beside him and nodded before taking the bowl when he finished.

“I guess you are feeling better,” Peter nodded and Rosa set the bowl and cup on the tray before picking it up. “That means you can do chores before you go.” She smiled playfully and walked away. “C'mon, get up and get dressed. There's a chore chart downstairs.”

Peter got dressed, but when he slipped on a pair of jeans he could feel the rough fabric on his legs and he hated it. He practically ripped the jeans off and looked at his legs in confusion, he had never had a problem with the jeans before, they were normally pretty comfortable. He turned them inside out to see if there was anything wrong with the inside, but there was nothing out of the ordinary.

He put on the comfiest pair of sweatpants he had and a soft hoodie before going downstairs to find the chore chart. He had to wipe down the counters and collect and take out the garbage. He did it with relative ease. When he was taking out the final garbage bag Darla came up to him, she was carrying a small bin of her toys and heading to the stairs when she saw him.

“Peter! How're you feeling? Do you still feel vomit-y?”

“No, I feel fine now. I'm all better.”

“Yay!” She paused before scrutinizing his face, Peter only looked on in confusion as he held the trash bag with one hand. “Where are your glasses?” She frowned, adjusting her own.

He touched his face with his free hand and to his surprise he wasn't wearing glasses, but the world still looked surprisingly clear. He remembered what happened last night and frowned. “I'm... trying out contacts. I wanna see if I like them,” he lied. He didn't know what was going on and he didn't want to draw any suspicion. Darla was a known motormouth, and he didn't want her going around and telling everyone that his eyesight suddenly got way better overnight.

“Oh, but glasses are cool,” she said, nodding her head like she was reciting something someone had told her. “You should keep wearing them.”

“I'll uh… think about it. I gotta go throw this out right now though, so… see you later.” He said but before he could slip out the front door to throw out the trash bag he thought of something else. “Also, I think you spilled super glue or something around the sink. My hands got stuck to it last night.”

Darla shook her head, “it wasn't me. Rosa wont let me use super glue. I don't even know where it is. I can ask Eugene or Pedro for you though!”

“No, no, it's fine. Just forget I asked.” Peter left after that, even more confused.

Once he finished his chores and told Rosa that he was done, he left to catch a bus to the cafe where he was planning to meet Skip. He had a small bag with him that had a notebook and pencils in it, as well as his phone charger and wallet.

It took him nearly forty minutes to get to the cafe, yet he was still early. He sat down at a table and waited awkwardly, he could see the employees giving him weird looks for not buying anything and he pointedly ignored them. Instead he went over everything that had happened to him recently in his head.

The back of his hand was healed from the bite, which was also confusing. He wondered if it was maybe just a hoax. Maybe he hadn't been bitten by a spider, but then what had made him so sick? And what had healed both his hand and his eyesight that night?

He laid one of his hands down on the table. If he could still see clearly without his glasses and Darla hadn't put superglue on the counter last night, then something really bizarre was going on with him. He thought about his hand sticking last night and when he tugged it, it stayed firmly stuck to the table. His eyes widened as he pulled on his hands and only the table budged. It definitely wasn't super glue. It was him .

Before he could get his hand unstuck Skip entered the cafe with a bag of his own. He spotted Peter immediately and waved at the boy, Peter waved back with the hand that wasn't stuck to the table. Skip sat down across from him and set his bag down. “Hey, how're you feeling? You were kind of out of it yesterday.”

“I'm fine,” Peter said, trying his best to seem casual with his hand stuck to the table. “Are you– How're you?”

“I'm fine,” Skip said through a laugh. “I wasn't the one who looked like he was about to keel over.” Skip took his jacket off and hung it along his chairback. Peter gave a small chuckle in response, but couldn't mask the twinge of anxiety in it. His hand was still stuck and no amount of subtle pulling was unsticking it. 

“Are you hungry?” Skip gestured with this head to the cafe's register, “or thirsty?”

“I– I'm good. Don't worry about me.” Peter was a little embarrassed about getting offered food, again, by the man who had continuously bought him lunch. He didn't have any money and he'd feel bad if Skip spent even more money on him. Public school teachers didn't get paid very well.

“Awe c'mon, it's on me. Get something.” Skip stood up and looked at Peter, expecting him to do the same. Peter stood up slowly, but kept his hand firmly on the table. Skip placed a friendly hand on his shoulder and pointed his body towards the menu listed above the counter. “Take a gander, and decide what you want. You can pick anything on the menu.”

Peter looked at the menu, but found that he couldn't focus. There was something akin to a headache starting up at the base of his skull and he wondered if he actually did still need his glasses. But even with the forming headache he could clearly read the words and prices listed.

As he read it he could feel his hand unsticking from the table, and the second it was free he moved it away. He did not need it to restick anytime soon– or ever really.

Skip walked him closer to the register and ordered for himself: a decaf americano and spinach puffs. He moved his hand to Peter's lower back to move him forward so he could order. But the second his hand made contact the forming headache worsened. He could only assume that he actually wasn't completely better. He took a small step forward which caused Skip's hand to fall away. Suddenly, his headache eased up a bit. He added it up to the sensory issues he had been having since this morning.

He ordered a small hot chocolate and stepped away. Skip frowned. “Aren't you hungry?”

“I…” he placed a hand on his stomach. He actually was pretty hungry. He had survived on a lot less than a bowl of soup before though, and so he wondered why he felt hungry. “My stomach has been so-so recently.”

“Hmm,” Skip hummed in thought before turning to the cashier. “I'd also like one of those big croissants and an order of oatmeal please.” He then turned back to Peter, “do you like oatmeal? Think your stomach can handle it?”

“You really don't have to…”

Skip waved off Peter's complaint and paid for the order. Then they went back to their table. Peter pulled out his notebook and a pencil and Skip pulled out a lesson book. He skimmed the pages before finding what he needed.

They worked together for a few minutes until their food and drinks were ready. Skip grabbed them all from the hand off and brought them back to their table. Skip didn’t hesitate to dig into his spinach puffs and no amount of self control could keep Peter from the warm oatmeal. He finished it a lot quicker than he had meant to, and his embarrassment only caused Skip to laugh. “I remember when I was your age. I was starving all the time too. Finish up your croissant and if you’re hungry later I can get you more.” Peter didn’t nod his head in agreement, but he also didn’t shake it in disagreement. Instead he just picked up the croissant and picked at the flakey skin.

They got back into the groove of working while they sipped their drinks. Skip gave Peter difficult problems and they worked through them together. Skip knew that Peter was smart, but he was very surprised with just how quickly the kid picked up on advanced subjects.

Before the end of their lesson Skip said he was open to any questions or suggestions for what to learn about next week. Peter, without thinking, asked a question that had been plaguing his mind. “I know that this has to do a bit with biology, but are there any say… low level toxins that can affect the chemical makeup of a body? Maybe in a restorative way? Like, say if there are damaged cells, could a chemical interference stop the damage and… signal a replacement?"

“I’m not as well versed in biology as I am in chemistry, but I’m pretty sure what you described is–in a sense–the process of healing. Chemical signals are sent out from damaged cells to cause blood to clot or tissue to swell so the cells can get to work and start healing.”

“Okay, okay, but I mean faster. Like way faster. And not the cells themselves… like an outside source.”

“So… super healing?” Skip looked at Peter quizzically. Peter paused and thought it through. It sounded dumb, but Skip just might be right.

“Yeah… super healing…”

“Well, if superheroes are anything to go by then I’d say yes. There are things that can cause super healing, but I’m not sure I could call them toxins. Why do you ask?” Skip looked at Peter suspiciously, and Peter shrugged under the heavy gaze.

“I– I just watched a documentary on Captain America. I wanted to know where the scientists started.”

“Trust me, if someone knew how, they would’ve remade the serum ages ago. Don’t worry about it too much, you still have a bit to go before you can try making the next super soldier serum." Skip chuckled at his own joke, but Peter was just even more unsettled. Did he have super healing? Could he stick to things? What else could he do? And was it all from the spider bite?

He distractedly tapped on his–now empty–mug of hot chocolate. After a few taps the mug cracked under his fingertip. He looked at the crack and his cheeks flushed bright red. "I'm sorry! I didn't mean to!" He moved his hands away from the mug and looked at Skip with something akin to fear in his eyes. Skip just shook his head and chuckled at the skittish boy.

"Don't worry about it, it was probably already cracked." Skip stood from the table and Peter did the same only slower, still unsure if Skip was actually mad and hiding it until they got out of the cafe. Skip first walked to the counter and left a few bills in the tip jar as compensation before walking back to pick up his bag and jacket. "How're you getting home?"

"I take the bus," He checked his phone and pulled up the route with a transit app. His next bus would come in about thirty-six minutes. His face immediately fell as he realized he'd have to wait a while. "Which… doesn't come for a while."

"Do you need a ride?" Skip offered casually.

"What? No, no it's probably out of your way and it's a lot of gas, and–"

"Einstein," Skip interrupted, causing Peter to shut his mouth immediately. "I care about you. I want to take you home." He laid a hand on Peter's shoulder and looked him in the eyes. Peter stared back, ignoring the headache that came back from the added stimulus.

As he looked into Skip's eyes he realized that, unlike anyone in his foster home, he didn't have to care about Peter. He had chosen to take Peter under his wing and spend part of his weekends teaching Peter. He chose to spend money on him. The people in his foster home were nice, but they didn't pick him out and make him feel special. They didn't make him feel unwanted, but they didn't make him feel particularly wanted either. But Skip did. He admired the man. It wasn't his responsibility to care for or about Peter, but he did.

He nodded and accepted the ride home, telling Skip the address to Victor and Rosa's house. It only took them about ten minutes by car, and when they pulled up Peter didn't necessarily want to get out. Skip's car was nice and warm and even though his head kept thrumming he liked the space. Back in the house he knew there would be screaming and arguing and loud video games, and with his senses seemingly all out of whack he wasn't sure if he would be able to handle it. Nonetheless, he thanked Skip and opened the car door, but before he could get out Skip spoke up. "You're my little Einstein, don't forget it. I know you won't because you're so full up on pride, but give me a call if you ever need to get away. There's not a lot I wouldn't do for you." Skip smiled at Peter, and Peter shyly smiled back. Skip definitely was better in Peter's eyes. "See you later, swing by my office any time. If I don't see you at school then I'll see you during our sessions alright? Same time, same place."

Peter nodded and fully stepped out of the car. "See you later, Skip. Drive safe." He closed the door and walked inside the house, unable to keep a smile off of his face.

Chapter Text

Billy stood in front of his five ‘shazamed’ siblings inside The Lair . They had brought in a few creature comforts and furniture items to make the place seem less creepy; they still had a lot of work to do in that department. 

All of them had 'shazamed' themselves and slipped into The Lair after Peter left for his tutoring session with Mr. Westcott. Billy needed to warn them about the newest threat he'd encountered. 

“He was all green and gross, and he had these little bomb thingies. He called himself The Green Goblin –” Freddy scoffed and Billy pointed to him, “I know. It's kinda bullshit that it's what? The first time we've seen him? And he already has a name?”

“I could do better,” Freddy slipped in before Billy continued.

“Anyways, he looks super weak and scrungly, but he has some kinda… mind-fuckery stuff,” the others gave him confused looks, “I dunno man! One of his bombs blew up in my face and then there were a bunch of him and my leg was stuck in the ground!”

“Is that why you were cowering?” Eugene asked while unlocking his phone to pull up a video he had downloaded.

“What? No! I wasn't cowering,” Billy defended himself, shocked that Eugene would even suggest that.

Eugene just turned his phone around to show Billy a video of his alter ego laying on the ground clearly cowering. He flipped it around to show the others. 

“Hey!” Billy snatched the phone from Eugene, deleting the video off his phone as quickly as he could. 

“No use, it already went viral. Pretty sure it was on the news.” Billy sighed and tossed the phone back to Eugene. “By the way, we really need to get a wi-fi router set up here.”

Freddy’s hand shot up, “I second that.”

Billy nodded his head. “Agreed. But,” he emphasized the ‘but’ to bring them back on track, “Green Goblin first. We gotta figure out what to do about him.”

“Well, what does he want?” Mary asked. 

“I… don't know. He was throwing bombs at the Oscorp building. But when I showed up he just seemed like he really wanted to kill me.”

Mary shrugged, “I feel like that's a given. Being a superhero and all.”

Freddy threw his hands up, “y'know what'd help? Wi-Fi.” Eugene nodded.

“I'm starting to agree with them,” Pedro spoke up and a small chorus of “yeah”s followed suit.

Billy sighed and pinched his nose. “Can we talk about something other than the Wi-Fi?”

“Oh!” Darla’s hand shot up, “are you gonna give Peter powers now?” 

“What?” 

“So he can join the group.”

“Yeah, yeah I know, but… I can't. Even if I wanted to,” Billy put his hands up and shrugged, “I don't have that magic stick thing. And I don't know how to give someone powers without it.”

“Are you gonna tell him at least?” Mary asked.

“Whoa, whoa. Why would I do that?” 

“He's… your roommate,” Mary said it like it was obvious. “Don't you think he might notice if you disappear every time there's an emergency.”

Billy scoffed, “what? No,” but the more he thought about it, the more he realized the risk. “Okay okay, I mean we'll tell him eventually .”

“Or he’ll figure it out like we did,” Eugene said. Billy pointed to him. 

“Yes, that! Exactly. He can just figure it out. No biggie.” 

Mary rolled her eyes, “and if he gets mad that we were all hiding superpowers from him?”

Freddy piped up. “Like he's not hiding stuff from us.”

Mary turned her gaze to Freddy. “I think the situations are very different Freddy–”

“Are they? Are they though? Have you seen what happened to the upstairs bathroom?” 

“No. I avoid that place like the plague. Five teenage boys sharing a bathroom? No thank you.”

Freddy looked scandalized and opened his mouth to retort, but Billy jumped in before he could. "The ripped up counter stuff?" Freddy nodded, "How d'you know it was Peter?"

Freddy shrugged and looked around, "I mean… it wasn't any of us. Plus Darla told me." Freddy gestured at her with his thumb. 

"Peter asked if I spilled superglue." 

"And?" Billy brought up, defending Peter. "That's your answer right there. Glue."

Freddy then held up a pair of glasses, "and these? He didn't leave with them today." 

Darla nodded her head, "he said he was trying out contacts. I think he should keep the glasses."

Freddy didn't turn to her, he just looked at Billy and raised his eyebrows. "Where's the evidence? The solution? Those little… little container things? I haven't seen any of it."

"Okay Sherlock Holmes, what're you getting at?" Mary asked, disbelief laced in her voice. 

"I'm just saying it's a little suspicious. A new villain shows up and Peter starts acting weird."

"Whoa whoa! That's ridiculous!" Billy didn't like where this conversation was going. "You can't seriously be suggesting that Peter is… no, no. That's just stupid." Billy crossed his arms and shook his head. 

Freddy threw his hands up as a placating gesture. "I'm not suggesting anything. I'm just saying. I mean," Freddy started a nervous laugh, "what would be the odds?" His nervous laugh died out into silence as his siblings thought. 

"Mary," Eugene spoke up after a beat, "he went on that field trip with you right?"

"Yeah, he did."

"... to Oscorp. The same building that was attacked…"

Mary nodded slowly. "Yep." 

Serious and concerned looks grew on almost every sibling's face as they put pieces of a puzzle together, all except for Darla who hadn't even opened the box yet.

After a few moments of uncomfortable silence Pedro posed a question, "didn't he like… disappear for a bit?" 

Mary reluctantly nodded again. "Yeah," she didn't believe that Peter was the Green Goblin, but she couldn't deny the timing was suspicious, "right before the attack…"

Freddy looked at Mary as he said, "and he just so happened to show back up…" Freddy rolled his head from Mary to Billy as Mary finished. 

"...right after."

Billy and Freddy were upstairs in their room fully engrossed in their fifth Mortal Kombat duel when there was a knock on the door. "Come in!" Freddy shouted, keeping his eyes glued to the screen. Billy was absolutely destroying him as Raiden. Again. At least the rounds were lasting longer, which Freddy considered an improvement. 

Mary opened the door and slipped in, closing it behind her. Neither boy acknowledged her presence as she walked up behind them. She cleared her throat. Still nothing.

"Guys…" Mary started, but went completely ignored.

"Come on!" Freddy shouted as Billy got a fatality. Billy just laughed. “It's not fair!”

“What? That you suck at the game?”

Mary walked passed the boys and stood in front of the TV as they continued to bicker. She pressed the power button on the console and crossed her arms.  

“Hey!” Both Billy and Freddy shouted as the screen blacked out and the console shut down. But now it was time for Mary to ignore them. 

She had a serious look on her face as she spoke, “we need to talk about Peter.” 

Freddy and Billy glanced at each other before returning their gazes to Mary. “We… just did?” Freddy said, confused.

“No,” Mary pointed at Freddy, “you just accused him of being a supervillain.”

“Hey, I didn't accuse–” Freddy started, but Mary cut him off as she addressed Billy.

“You can't seriously believe that Peter is that weird goblin guy?” 

Billy’s eyes widened as he was singled out. “I mean… not really, no. But, like, it's kinda suspicious.”

“Exactly,” Freddy interjected, “ you were there during the attack and you said he disappeared.”

“So that automatically makes him a supervillain?”

“Well, no,” Freddy backed down, “but why are you saying all this now? We just had a meeting.” 

“Because,” Mary’s annoyed and confident mask faltered as she let out a deep breath, “this is too… serious for the younger ones.” She rubbed her elbow with her opposite hand. 

Billy and Freddy both straightened up and kept quiet. Mary had their full attention now.  

“Plus you guys are his roommates, and I'm worried but I don't have evidence and…” Mary wasn't looking at them anymore. She was looking at her hands and rambling to ease her anxiety. She chewed her tongue for a moment before continuing. “Well, so… don't you find it odd that Mr. Westcott always takes Peter for lunch and… and now they're what? Hanging out on a Saturday?”

There was a moment of silence before Billy spoke up, “it's like… tutoring right? ‘Cause he was in all those, like, smart people classes before…”

“On a Saturday? There's an AP chem study group that meets after school every Tuesday and Thursday. He doesn't have to be in the class to go. But instead they're meeting on a weekend, off campus? Don't you find that a little weird?” She looked at Billy and Freddy, who just looked back at her, visibly uncomfortable with what she was insinuating. Her eyes darted back down to her hands as she rubbed them together. "It's just… Mr. Westcott has given me a weird feeling the whole year, but he hasn't done anything… well, anything I've noticed. And I'm just– I don't know– worried … with how much interest he's taken in Peter." 

Mary's implication hung heavily in the air. They were all old enough to know what she meant, and yet no one really wanted to just come out and say it. It felt too taboo, like they might make it a reality with their own words. 

However, Freddy was never good with silence. He stammered and flapped his mouth before clearing his throat. "Um, well then– then we'll just kick his ass."

"No," Mary said immediately, "we can't."

"We can't?" Billy asked, confused. He was onboard with Freddy's plan, what little there was of it.

"Why not?!" Freddy also felt like his plan was completely justified.

"The optics." She clasped her hands together in front of her chin, almost like she was praying. "We don't know if he's… actually doing anything. We have no evidence. If we just go and beat him up then…" she shrugged her shoulders and shook her head. "If this is… really happening, we need to handle it carefully. We can't just go rushing in. We need to make sure he gets locked away for good."

Billy spoke up, quietly and unsure, "but… how do we do that?"

"I… I'm not sure…"

In what seemed like too short of a time Monday had rolled around and Peter was back to dealing with boring classes and the annoying Breyer boys. Days of the week blended together, Skip would grab Peter for lunch some days and on the days where he didn’t, Peter actually enjoyed lunch with Freddy and Billy; he was starting to connect with the two boys. He wasn’t sure if it was their similarities in age or their similarities in experiences, but they were becoming friends. Something Peter needed in this school since he didn’t have Ned here.

“Iron Man or Batman?” Freddy asked one day at lunch.

“Batman,” Billy said.

“Iron Man,” Peter said at the same time.

They looked at each other and Freddy’s eyebrows raised as he chewed on his soggy fries. “I gotta agree with Billy on this, Batman all the way.”

“Awe c’mon. Iron Man’s pretty cool.”

“Yeah, but compared to Batman?” Freddy was quick to defend. Billy only shrugged, a small smile on his face at his friend's obsession with superheroes.

“Iron Man can fly with a super cool suit he designed. I know I’m a nerd, but c’mon that has to give him some brownie points.”

“Valid, and it does." Freddy pointed a ketchup-dipped fry at Peter. "But Batman has cool jets and a grappling hook that he uses to swing around on.” He popped the fry in his mouth.

“And what exactly does that have to do with bats?” Peter said directly to Freddy, raising his eyebrows. He shrugged his shoulders. “All I’m saying is that it’s misbranding.”

Billy laughed into the back of his hand. “He’s not wrong though. If he wants to swing around the city like that it’s more like Monkeyman or Spiderman . Something like that.”

“And that’s why I come up with the names,” Freddy looked like he wanted to say more when the Breyer Boys approached the table, slamming a hand down.

“What’s up r-tards?” Brett or Burke said. Peter hadn’t really paid enough attention to them to know the difference.

“What is this? 2010? What do you want?” Freddy frowned and crossed his arms.

“We want you to stop acting tough. Ever since the Red Cyclone showed up you’ve been acting like you’re all that. We need to take you down a peg. Show us just how much of a man you are when your little buddy isn’t here.”

“Cool it guys, seriously,” Billy interjected, looking generally annoyed with the two.

“We got beef with you too weirdo, why don’t we kick both your asses, huh?”

"Assholes…" Peter muttered under his breath, but it wasn't quiet enough. 

"What the hell did you just say shit stain?" Their attention was on Peter now.

While Peter would normally shrink away, he felt an unusual courage bubbling up inside him. “I called you assholes, because you are. They don’t wanna fight you, just leave them alone.” 

"Listen kid, you don't want beef with us. Mind your own business."

"Nah, I'm good." Peter shook his head. He could feel his usual bout of anxiety and fear rising under the courage, but he couldn't back down now. "You've made it my business now."

“It’s okay Peter, don’t get involved,” Billy said, he looked mostly calm. If anything he looked more concerned for Peter than his own well-being.

“Yeah, it’s fine. These two dweebs can’t touch us,” Freddy looked a little maniacal when he said that.

“Only because you little shits have a superhero protecting you, if you weren’t such pussies you’d face us like men.”

The other Breyer boy slapped his hand on his brother's shoulder and put on a faux sympathetic look. "Oh, I get it now. Since you can't go crying to your mommies, you had to suck Cyclone's dick so he'd deal with your problems."

Peter stood up at that, more than a little annoyed. He had found out he was a little older than the other two boys, and he often felt a need to protect any of his younger foster siblings. "Leave them alone."

"Peter it's fine, seriously leave it," Billy said, going ignored by the other boys.

"You wanna go too? Huh?" The Breyer boys looked even angrier now.

"Hey, Pete. Back down alright," Freddy was losing his maniacal confidence, concerned for his foster brother.

Peter promptly ignored them. "Maybe I do."

There was a sharp tingle in the base of his skull that was almost painful. Peter found himself ducking under a punch without even meaning to. The world slowed down and as he looked between Burke–he still didn't know who was who, but he assumed it was Burke–and the fist flying over his head, he realized he was in the perfect position to take him down.

While not his forte like chemistry, he understood physics very well. He also knew that if he threw off the taller guy's center of gravity he would fall over. So Peter, from his ducked position, rammed his shoulder into the bully's stomach with a bit more force than necessary to topple him over.

It worked a bit too well. Burke landed on his ass and slid several feet away. Peter looked at the stunned, downed bully, surprised by even himself. He wasn't fully sure where that had come from.

The cafeteria was still and quiet for a few long moments. It was like a picture, everyone immobilized in space at a specific time. It stayed like that until Brett broke the silence. "You're fucking dead!"

Brett lunged at Peter, Billy and Freddy stood up in response but there wasn't anything they could do. Peter sidestepped the lunge, using whatever had guided him to get Burke on the ground to take Brett out.

When Brett passed him, the same kind of slow motion kicked in. Peter grabbed a handful of the school's crappy meatloaf from his tray and shoved it into Brett's face. He was a little surprised by his own actions, but he didn't have time to be surprised because when Brett wiped the meatloaf from his face he only looked more pissed.

Freddy, not wanting to see Peter get pummeled and knowing that–despite how cool it would be–they couldn't transform to fight their bullies, came up with his own plan of action.

"Food fight!" He shouted, grabbing his own handful of meatloaf and chucking it directly at Brett.

However it didn't work quite as well as he thought it would. Everyone looked at him, but no one started to throw any of their food. It had only spurred the security guard to speed walk toward them looking very, very annoyed.

"Awe c'mon guys, really?!" Freddy said to no one in particular when the security guard grabbed his arm to cart him off with the rest of the people involved.

It was safe to say that Victor and Rosa were less than pleased when they got a call that three of their foster kids were in trouble for fighting. Billy was only pulled into the office as a witness and got a light punishment for being there, but he did his best to shift some of the blame off of Freddy and Peter. Brett and Burke did their best to shift all blame off of themselves as instigators. It worked to a degree; they were the ones with a bruised elbow and a meatloaf face.

Peter and Freddy both got a week's worth of detention and the Breyer boys and Billy all got warnings and had lunch detention the next day.

When Peter saw the look on the principal’s face he knew that this instance would be detrimental to his goal of returning to Midtown as soon as possible. The more trouble he caused the less likely Midtown would be to take him back–especially with the same full-ride scholarship he had before–and he was already on thin ice with them. He needed to prove to both Midtown and Fawcett that he deserved to be in such a prestigious science school. If he was just the delinquent foster kid everyone saw him as, he would never get to go back.

Many people would call Freddy a detention regular. Freddy preferred to call himself a seasoned professional. Despite the countless hours he'd spent after school in punishment, detention with Peter was still awkward. 

There were a few other kids locked up with them for one reason or another, but Freddy’s main focus was Peter.

Mary asked Billy and him to keep an eye on Peter as she was worried about him and Mr. Westcott. And while Freddy was looking for any signs of abuse, he was also looking for any signs of superpowers.

Freddy felt pride in his encyclopedic knowledge of superpowers and superheroes. He was the resident superpower expert and he knew the signs when he saw them. Freddy knew something was up with Peter. He just didn't know all the details, like what exactly was going on. He was pretty sure the bathroom counter wasn’t destroyed by superglue and he hadn't found any indication that Peter used contacts. 

However, those were just his suspicions. The real evidence came during school. Peter had reacted supernaturally fast and practically shoved Burke across the cafeteria. 

Throughout the week he broke three mechanical pencils while writing. Snapped them clean in half. And that was just what Freddy saw.

Super strength? Check. Super reflexes? Maybe.

He ripped a few sheets of paper out of his notebook and folded them into paper footballs. He took aim at Peter and fired. And missed. The paper football soared over Peter's head and landed on the ground. Peter looked away from the homework he was working on down to the paper football, then back up at Freddy with furrowed eyebrows. Freddy just smiled back until Peter returned to his homework. Good thing he made multiples.

Freddy tried again, flicking the paper football at Peter. It hit him squarely in the side of the head. 

“ Ow,” Peter whispered, looking over at Freddy again, “what was that for?”

“Shhh,” the teacher monitoring detention said, his eyes glued to a poorly hidden cellphone under his desk, “no talking.” 

Both boys had turned their heads to look at the teacher, and when they looked back at eachother Peter had an unimpressed and confused expression. He shook his head and mouthed "stop" before turning back down to his homework. Again.

Freddy did stop for a while, solely to think about his findings. So Peter hadn't reacted to the paper football. Interesting. But he had only actually hit Peter once. It could be a fluke. He'd try again, but he'd give it some time first. He could see Peter glancing over at him suspiciously every few minutes. He'd have to wait for Peter to let his guard down before he tried again, or the experiment wouldn't be viable. 

When Peter finally stopped glancing over at him, Freddy gave it a few more minutes before deciding it was time. Detention was most of the way over by this point and Peter had moved on from one class's homework to another's. Freddy hadn't done an ounce of homework the entire time. 

He set up the paper football one more time and aimed at Peter. He didn't, however, check his surroundings. He flicked the paper football and sent it flying right as the teacher walked into his, admittedly narrow, field of view. Peter turned his head the second Freddy flicked it. It was his third time hearing that sound in an hour and he knew what it meant. But Freddy didn't notice as his eyes tracked the paper football's path. It flew over Peter's head and hit the teacher walking through the aisle. 

The paper football fell from the teacher and landed audibly on the ground. All noise in the room had stopped, no scratching of pencils on paper, no page turning, no sniffles or coughs. It seemed like the entire room had stopped breathing for the moment. 

The teacher glared at Freddy, who shrunk down and tried to awkwardly laugh it off. It didn't work. He got slapped with an extra week of detention and didn't learn a damn thing from it.

Chapter Text

Peter Parker had superpowers.

He figured it out the night after he got detention. He snuck out for a few hours, after everyone fell asleep, to test them. He could stick to walls; both his hands and feet could stick, although it wasn't as easy through shoes. After a few practice rounds where he fell flat on his ass he figured out how to climb walls. He had super strength, though he didn't know to what extent. He had super healing, enhanced senses, and super flexibility.

He hadn't felt this great in years. He could do so much more than he ever could before. He had the fleeting thought that he could just leave; with powers like these he didn't need a foster family. He could take care of himself. He had always said he could, but that had been more of a 'leave now, figure it out later' kind of situation. Now he could actually take care of himself. He could sleep on rooftops and sneak into buildings to steal–

He stopped that train of thought immediately. The thought of his late aunt and uncle's disappointment in him for stealing kept him from considering the option any longer. He could still take care of himself. He'd just have to find a better means to do so.

It finally seemed like his Parker Luck was looking up, that was until he came back from his little getaway to a very stressed and annoyed Victor and Rosa. After the fight at school and subsequent detention all three boys were grounded. No video games, no hanging out with friends, no fun, for a whole two weeks. According to them he was violating his grounding. When he explained that he had just gone on a walk to clear his head they tried to check his pupils and smell him discreetly, but he knew. Many times foster parents–especially if they knew Peter had a track record for disappearing–would try to catch him abusing drugs or alcohol. He was completely clean though, he didn't drink or smoke or use drugs and their distrust in him was really starting to wear on his nerves.

After they deemed him clear they sent him off to his room and he went, though he was still very annoyed. He ruminated on his powers and what they meant for him: no more bullies, no more broken glasses, no more helplessness. He felt like it was a fresh start for him, he only needed to figure out what to do with it.

After attending a week's worth of detention the weekend rolled around. Peter thought that his grounding meant he couldn’t go to his tutoring sessions with Skip, but when Saturday rolled around Victor offered to give him a ride.

Peter knew it was to make sure he was going where he said he was, which would be reasonable if Skip hadn’t contacted them and told them about the tutoring plan. But he didn’t want to walk and so he accepted the ride anyway.

Just like when Skip took him back to the house, the car ride took a lot less time than travel by public transportation. But when they pulled up outside of the cafe Victor paused and looked at Peter with just a hint of seriousness in his eyes. Peter could feel anxiety spike in his chest from the look.

“Peter,” Victor said, pausing before looking away with a sigh. “Is something wrong?” Peter didn’t answer so Victor continued, looking more concerned than serious as he spoke. “We know that it takes time to get used to a new place, to adjust. But you can talk to us. We want to help you, but you have to let us. With the fight at school this week and never talking to us, and not being okay with touch, and getting really sick and getting better overnight and… Rosa and I are worried about you. Do you want to try… professional help?”

Peter tensed at the threat of professional help. The last time he had talked to a therapist was to deal with the trauma of his parents' deaths. When they had tried to make him see one after the death of his aunt and uncle he had refused, and when they made him go he didn’t talk. Eventually they stopped sending him; there were plenty of foster kids who could benefit from therapy and with so few mental health professionals willing to work with Medicaid it only took five sessions of silence before they gave up.

He didn’t want help, not like that at least. He didn’t need someone judging his life and telling him what was wrong with him. He didn’t feel comfortable talking about his problems with his friends, let alone a stranger. The thought pricked at his nerves and put him on edge. “No,” he said, opening the passenger door and stepping out, barely taking enough time to undo his seatbelt.

“Peter! Wait, we really think you should consider this or–”

“Or what!? You’ll kick me out?! Like everyone has before?! Call up Charlise and tell her to send me packing?! Go ahead! I hate going to Fawcett! I hate having to sit through those stupid classes! I hate the stupid 'all hands on deck' thing we do! I hate getting no choice in what I do with my life!” Frustrated tears started to run down Peter’s cheeks and no matter how much he wiped at them with his sleeve they wouldn’t stop. “Have them send me upstate! I don’t care!” Peter slammed the door, still furiously wiping at his eyes, and walked towards the cafe. Victor was quick to get out of the van and follow him. It only took him a few strides before he placed a hand on Peter’s shoulder to stop him. Peter reacted immediately, throwing Victor’s hand off of his shoulder and staring the taller man down with all the rage a depressed fifteen year old could muster.

They were causing quite a scene, drawing the attention of Skip as he approached the cafe. He looked concerned as he stepped up to the pair. “Is everything alright?’

“Mr. Westcott, I– I’m sorry. I think tutoring might not be the best move right now, tensions are a little high and–” Victor started, concerned for Peter. He wanted to get him help, and doing extra work didn’t seem like the best way to start.

“Don’t speak for me,” Peter said, venom laced in his voice. He turned to Skip quickly. “We’re still working today, right?”

Skip paused, looking between Peter and Victor. “I… think it might be a good idea to go ahead with our lesson. He seems a little distressed and some time away from the house could help cool things off. And from my experience chemistry seems like it almost calms him. I’ll make sure he gets home on time and safely. If there’s any trouble I can call you, but overall… it might be more beneficial to just give him some space right now.” Skip was speaking to Victor as Peter worked his way behind Skip.

Victor didn’t want to give up that easily, he needed to talk to Peter. But Mr. Westcott’s idea did seem like it would be more helpful in the long run. He had known the teacher from Mary's AP chemistry class and he seemed trustworthy enough. So Victor nodded slowly, looking more than worried about Peter. “Alright, if you think it’ll help. But don’t feel like you have to. I just…” Victor looked past Mr. Westcott and at Peter, who pointedly refused to look back at him. “We aren’t going to send you away. We just want to make sure that you’re happy. We’re worried about you Peter. We’ll talk more later.” He looked at Mr. Westcott and nodded in a silent plea to take care of Peter.

Slowly but surely Victor got back into the van and drove off. Peter remained stock still, his shoulders hunched, until he could no longer hear the old van amongst the other traffic. He relaxed slowly with a breath out, he wiped at his puffy, red eyes one more time and had to take a moment to collect himself lest he start crying again.

“Are you alright?”

Peter nodded, paused, and then shrugged.

“Do you want to talk about it?”

Peter shook his head.

“Do you actually want to go through tutoring right now?” Peter didn’t move. “Alright, can you go through tutoring right now? Or would it be too much?”

There was a long pause, and eventually Peter shook his head. He couldn’t do it at the moment, too many thoughts were floating in his head. If he tried to learn anything new he wouldn’t retain any of it and that wouldn’t be helpful at all.

Skip nodded. “I know you don’t want to go home–”

“That’s not my home.”

Skip sighed, “yes, sorry. I know you don’t want to go back there right now. If you want you can come to my place and just watch T.V. or something until you feel better.”

“Is that… okay?”

“I don’t mind, it’s better than sitting in a cafe. I can get some tests graded while you just… relax. I think that’s what you need. Some time to relax, away from everyone else.”

Peter nodded, his outburst and subsequent emotional rollercoaster left him exhausted. He had been holding in so many emotions for so long, and there were still so many bouncing around in his head. Every time he thought about what had just happened he felt something different: guilt for yelling at Victor, anger for being distrusted, frustration for never getting to make any choices, anxiety for the future, sadness for his Parker Luck, and most of all numbness because he didn’t know how to feel.

He let Skip lead him to his parked car and he slid into the passenger seat, wasting no time in curling up on himself. He was having difficulties staying present. His thoughts kept jumping around between the distant past to the near future, and from the near past to the distant future. He rarely spent any time thinking about the present. He was barely cognizant enough to remember when they arrived at Skip’s apartment or when he sat down on the couch.

He had calmed himself enough to regain feeling in his fingers when Skip handed him a mug of hot chocolate. “How’re you feeling?”

“‘M fine,” he mumbled, staring at the hot chocolate as he got back in touch with himself. He could feel a headache settle in the base of skull and he shuttered. He normally got headaches after crying, but this one felt much worse. He hadn’t cried in a while and he assumed he just really needed to get it out.

“Good, you had me worried there for a bit. You weren’t being very responsive.”

“Sorry.”

“It’s alright, I’m just glad you’re feeling better,” Skip ruffled Peter’s hair and he flinched at the touch. His headache made him even more sensitive than his enhanced senses usually did. Skip didn’t retract his hand, instead he kept it firmly planted in Peter’s hair, rubbing his thumb along the crown of his skull. “Drink up, if I learned anything from Harry Potter it’s that chocolate helps you to feel better.”

Peter nodded, holding the mug of hot chocolate with both hands and feeling its warmth. He closed his eyes for a few moments, trying his best to quell the dizzying headache that made the thought of drinking the hot chocolate almost nauseating. He swallowed thickly and tamped that feeling down best he could, taking a few large gulps of the warm drink.

Even with his body wanting him not to drink, the feeling of warm milk and chocolate working its way down his throat and into his stomach was very calming. Before long Peter finished the entire mug and his nausea began to ease up a bit.

He raised his head to look for Skip, realizing for the first time that he was dissociating in a new environment. He didn’t want to totally lose it and make Skip take care of him. He felt guilt and anxiety creep up and he quickly got to his feet.

He felt a strong need to turn around, and when he did Skip was standing there. The sudden movement startled both Peter and the older man, and he grabbed Peter’s shoulders to still him. “Whoa there, no need to move so fast. You were out of it for a bit so just relax for now alright.”

“Wait no, I don’t– you really don’t need to take care of me. I’m really, really sorry I–”

“Einstein! Calm down, don’t worry about it. I wouldn’t have been doing anything else today, okay. Besides, you’ve been just sitting here. Don’t apologize, it’s not a problem, I promise.”

Peter swallowed and looked down, an apology on the tip of his tongue. “I don’t know why I– what happened.”

Skip’s hands moved from Peter’s shoulders down his arms. “You were overwhelmed. You spaced out as a result. It’s alright, it happens to a lot of people.” Skip’s hands stopped at Peter’s forearms and after a pause he lifted one to cup the side of Peter’s head. “It’s alright to not know. You’re safe here. You can just relax.”

Peter’s headache spiked when Skip touched him, but it was considerably duller than it had been before. Overall he felt relatively numb, especially since he’d been dealing with enhanced senses for two weeks. Peter could barely feel Skip’s hand on his arm or his head. He found himself leaning more into the older man's hands than he normally would.

It didn’t feel nice, not like when his mom or dad or aunt or uncle cupped his head when he was little. They had been trying to comfort him and it felt warm and soothing; the hand on his head and arm felt more like fire ants crawling under his skin. He wanted to move away, but he found his body wouldn't listen to him. Skip's face started to blur, but even with limited detail the look in Skip's eyes made Peter shiver involuntarily.

He slumped totally into Skip’s hands and the man adjusted his grip to set the smaller boy on the couch comfortably, hushing him quietly. Peter didn’t understand why he was being hushed, he couldn’t even speak. But his thoughts fragmented and within seconds his eyes slipped shut and he passed out.

Chapter Text

Peter Parker had superpowers.

He could stick to walls. He had super strength, super healing, enhanced senses, and super flexibility. He had great endurance and agility.

He also had a fast metabolism.

It’s simple biochemistry. A metabolism is the physical and chemical process that sustains life. Molecules go through either the catabolic process of degradation or oxidation, the anabolic process of building molecules through reduction or biosynthesis, or both processes together. It is through those chemical processes where organisms get their source of energy and nutrients.

If the metabolism is fast, it processes the molecules quickly, delivering the nutrients– and in some cases toxins– around the body.

If a benzodiazepine like flunitrazepam–commonly known as rohypnol–were to be transmitted through the body very quickly it could bind to the receptors on GABA neurotransmitters, which cause GABA neurotransmitters to bind to neuron receptors more often.

When GABA neurotransmitters bind to neuron receptors, brain function is decreased.

Thus someone with a fast metabolism would pass out very quickly after consuming rohypnol. And in large enough doses it can cause anterograde amnesia; the inability to form new memories after the inciting amnesiatic event. People often have no memories of what transpired whilst they were under the influence of rohypnol.

However, while a fast metabolism delivers nutrients and toxins around the body quicker, it also breaks down molecules and uses the energy and nutrients up quicker. If there are no new benzodiazepine molecules to bind to the GABA receptors as a way to get GABA neurotransmitters to bind to neuron receptors and decrease brain function, brain function will increase sooner.

Anterograde amnesia won't last as long and new memories will form.

And someone with a fast metabolism would wake up sooner.

Peter Parker had a fast metabolism.

He also had an early warning sense located in the base of his skull. It throbbed and controlled his movements when there was immediate danger. And it warned him when something just wasn't right.

He had been ignoring it. Not purposefully. But when his fast metabolism burned through the rohypnol and he woke up to Skip on top of him, he had a blinding, throbbing headache and the sense in his head screaming at him to move.

He hadn't meant to ignore it. He just didn't know it existed.

He remembered the time in the cafeteria where he had taken on the Breyer boys. He had followed his sixth sense and allowed it to take control. It was screaming at him to move now, but his body wasn't listening. He was still sluggish from the drug.

"Shit!" He could barely hear from above him. It sounded like he was underwater. "Why are you awake?!"

He felt a heavy blow on the side of his head, an attempt to knock him back out. He could feel blood pooling near his eye socket as it throbbed, he'd have a bruised and swollen eye in no time.

The impact disoriented him for a few seconds. He slid in and out of consciousness as his body fought off the combined drug and head contusion. But the feeling of hands on him, touching him, doing things to him, and the weight of Skip on top of him kept him from completely passing out again.

He finally roused. His eyes fluttered open, but he was unable to focus. He drew what limited strength his unresponsive arms could muster and threw the weight off of him. He could hear more cursing as he fought to get his limbs to listen to him. He could hear scuffling as Skip stood up.  

"Einstein, wait!" Peter looked at the other, half on the couch and half off. He could barely keep himself standing, "don't– you can't leave."

Peter didn't know what to think, let alone say. A man he had trusted, the only one he felt he could talk to and be listened to, had done unspeakable things to him and was now asking him to stay. He was at a loss for what to do– what to say even. His brain was muddled from the drugs and the realization that everything leading up to this had all been a farce. Had Skip just been using him?

"You– you… why?" He felt completely naked in front of the other man, even though he still had most of his clothes on. He had been in a state of partial undress, but no matter how many clothes his shaky hands put back on he still felt exposed.

"You're so bright, so smart, so kind. Just hear me out, please." Skip's voice was pleading and desperate, and despite the screaming in Peter's head telling him to leave, he stayed. "I couldn't resist. Your mind was so alluring, I found myself drawn to it. I– I had no control."

"No– no! That's not how this works," his voice was shaky and he blinked back tears. He could feel the forming bruise on his cheek with each blink.

"I'm weak Einstein, I'm just a weak man who can't help it." Skip approached Peter, arms stretched outward as a sign that he meant no harm. But Peter's head screamed at him that Skip did mean harm; he always had.

"Stop!" Peter shouted, tears still running down his face.

"You need to understand, I never meant to hurt you I just–"

"You hit me!" Peter couldn't say what else Skip did. He just… couldn't.

"That was an accident."

"How was that an accident?!" Peter was hysterical, with his head yelling at him and his body still fighting off exhaustion he couldn't help it.

"Please. Let's just talk."

"No! I don't– I don't wanna talk!" Peter yelled. He took a step to leave but his body crumpled without support from the couch. Skip moved to help him, but Peter's mind yelled at him that danger was approaching and he scrambled back. "Don't touch me!"

"Einstein please–"

"Stop!"

Skip's patience was wearing thin and he approached Peter anyway, cornering the boy against the wall. He grabbed both sides of Peter's head and made him look at Skip. He could see the tears flowing from the boy's fearful eyes and he frowned. "Shh shh," he hushed him. Skip rubbed his thumb along the boy's cheek in an attempt to soothe him. It only made Peter more panicked. "You need to calm down. If you go around causing trouble you won't get back into Midtown, remember?" The threat was clear, and Peter's breath hitched. "You'll fall behind, won't get your AP credit. And then what?" Peter was frozen in fear, his body screamed at him to do something. But he couldn't move. "You should feel lucky that I'm willing to help you. That I'm willing to love you. Nobody wants a foster kid like you, you only have me. I'm the only one that cares about you, that's helped you. You wanna throw that all away?"

Skip leaned in to kiss Peter's forehead; the final straw that broke him.

Peter headbutted the older man and could feel a sickening crunch as Skip’s nose caved under his forehead. Skip fell back and clutched his now broken and bleeding nose. Peter took his chance. He stood up on his shaky legs and stumbled as quickly as he could to the door, grabbing anything he knew was his as he went. He looked like a newborn deer running for the first time, but he didn't care; he needed to get out of here.

He ran out of the apartment, still barefoot but with his shoes in hand. He didn't wait for the elevator, he took the stairs as fast as his wobbly legs could and ran out into the cold New York evening with nothing on his feet.

Peter wasn’t sure how long he ran, but when he couldn’t run anymore he walked, and when he couldn’t walk he sat down under an elevated subway line in Jackson Heights. He wasn’t quite sure where exactly Skip’s apartment had been, but he knew they had been on the border between Brooklyn and Queens–probably Greenpoint or Williamsburg–and he had run all the way to Jackson Heights. It was dark out by now, he wasn’t sure what time it was but he knew he had ran for a while. He wasn’t sweaty at all, an effect of his newfound powers no doubt, but he was exhausted. His feet were numb and beyond dirty, but every cut he got healed within a few minutes.

He didn’t put his shoes on until he sat down. And when he felt his bare feet inside the shoes he almost sobbed. He didn’t know where his socks were–probably back at Skip’s–and their absence broke something in him.

He felt shattered, like someone had taken a sledgehammer to a mirror. He sat there for a long time, holding onto what little composure he had. The only thing that pulled him out of his trance was the sound of a distant shout barely audible over the roar of passing trains.

He wasn’t sure what it was at first, but he heard it again and again. And something from deep within gave him the strength to stand up and follow the sound.

It led him to a dimly lit alleyway a few blocks in a bad and somewhat deserted direction. He could see two figures in the alleyway, a larger man and a younger woman. The larger man looked threatening, he held a pocket knife in one hand and was covering the young girl’s mouth with his other. Her shouts were muffled and if it hadn’t been for his super hearing he would’ve missed it completely in the roar of the city streets and the subways above him.

He was still exhausted and dissociative from what had just happened to him– Don’t think about it. Don’t think about it. Don’t think about it –so he reacted without thinking. He ran at the man, mind mostly blank, and attacked. He punched and kicked and let the warning system in his head guide his movements until the man was downed. However he didn’t stop even when his sixth sense had stopped guiding him. He was on autopilot. Peter climbed on top of the older man, fisted the cuff of his shirt, pulled his fist back, and then brought it down and across the man's face. He did it again and again, all the rage and confusion pouring out all at once onto a random stranger in an alley.

By the time the police arrived the man was limp in Peter’s grasp. He was still alive– thank god –but his face was swollen, bruised, and bloody. Peter’s knuckles were covered in a layer of blood that he knew couldn’t be his.

With his still bruised and swollen eye as well as a few cuts he had gotten from the man’s pocket knife, the cops had considered it an act of self defense after getting caught up in a mugging. That or the cops didn't feel like doing all the paperwork that would come with booking him. The young girl had called the cops after Peter took the man down and told them what had happened. He wouldn’t get in much legal trouble for his actions, but the attack would go on his record and his social worker would find out.

Peter didn’t care. He felt numb. He had seen the look in the man’s eyes. He had sensed what danger the man could cause. It hadn’t been just an attempted mugging, it was never that simple. Peter knew that’s what set him off, but he refused to acknowledge it. If he made those connections he’d be forced to confront what happened to him. He couldn’t do that, not right now. Maybe never. He was positive it would break him.

The police took him back to Victor and Rosa’s house after that. They gave him a shock blanket and a cup of hot chocolate as he rode in the backseat. He stared down at the drink and he felt his throat clog up with anxiety, nausea, and fear. Logically, he knew there was no reason for the cops to spike his drink, but no amount of logic could overshadow his very recent trauma. The dark brown drink, normally sweet and comforting, gave him the feeling of wandering phantom hands. Of the fire ants under his skin. He didn't drink it. He knew he’d get into serious trouble when he got back. He might even end up going upstate, and at this point he couldn’t care less. He felt like a shell of a person, a husk of human flesh with nothing more than the shadow of who he once was on the inside.

Before that night he had lost so much and fought depression daily. But after what had happened he felt like he didn’t have much fight left in him anymore.

When they pulled up outside the house Peter almost had a heart attack. Skip’s car was parked out front right next to the van. He swallowed thickly and stepped out, walking with the officer all the way to the front door. The officer knocked and it took a total of three short seconds for the door to open.

Standing there was Rosa, she looked beyond stressed, Victor wasn’t far behind her. If Peter looked past both of them he could see Skip, sitting there looking innocently calm. Just the sight of him made Peter’s stomach do flips and he felt like the world was closing in on him. The man’s face was bruised under his eyes with tape and cotton keeping a recently fixed nose in place, but other than that he looked perfectly collected.

“Peter…” Rosa looked both pissed and relieved at the same time, and Peter almost choked with the whirlpool of confusing emotions he felt. He felt disappointed, angry, confused, stressed, depressed, guilty, and so much more. So much that it rounded out to him not understanding what he felt, and practically feeling nothing as his mind tried to cope with it.

The officer explained what happened and left, and when Peter was brought in they started speaking to him about events he hadn’t even been a part of like he had been a part of them.

“What has gotten into you?” Rosa said after she had pulled him off to the side, away from Skip and Victor. But Peter could still hear Skip, and he focused in on the sounds. His breathing, his movements, his quiet conversation with Victor. As if any change meant Skip was coming for him again. “You got into a fight at school, you– you’re not telling anyone when you leave, and then this?! Mr. Westcott has been helping you, he’s been advocating for you. And this is what you do to him?!”

Rosa was angry, Peter knew that. But he didn’t know what she was angry about. He didn’t know what Skip had told her, but he knew that he had painted Peter as the villain in their story. If Skip had told the truth they wouldn’t have let him into their house, they wouldn’t have been so mad at Peter, Skip would’ve been arrested, everything would have made sense. Right?

What Skip had done was illegal; it was morally wrong. Victor and Rosa were nice people, they had their flaws but they were good. There was no way they would trust that monster after what he did. Right ? Skip had been the only one to advocate for him doing higher level work. Skip had been trying to keep him up to date with his AP chemistry class. He had helped him, but that didn’t give him an excuse for what he did… right?

“I thought you were better than this Peter. I know what it’s like to be a foster kid, okay. Running away is… it’s expected. But attacking someone who has done nothing but help you? I don’t… I just don’t understand. Being mad at us? Okay. At your social worker? Okay. But Mr. Westcott…? Peter, I expected better from you. And then what? You run off and get into fights with strangers?”

Peter felt like he was going to throw up. “I don’t… I didn’t…” But he had. He had attacked Skip. He had a valid reason though, he knew he had. “Skip he…” Peter didn’t know what to say. He had awoken to Skip doing something wholly inappropriate, but he wasn’t completely sure what had transpired. Skip had drugged him and done things to him. But he found that when he tried to say that, his words caught in his throat and fear put his heart in a vice grip.

He couldn’t say it. If he did that would make it real and so much more trouble would be raised. What would that mean for him? Would there be court cases? He had just scraped by after beating up the mugger. If he says something about what Skip did he might have to go to court, deal with legal issues. And then what? Everyone knows what happened to him? And even then, he didn’t know exactly what happened. It was only the two of them there, which meant only Skip’s word against his, and Victor and Rosa already didn't trust him.

“I don’t know,” that was all he said. There were too many thoughts running around his head. And while part of him wanted to tell Rosa what happened, he just couldn’t . “I just wanna go upstairs.” Rosa tried to argue, but Peter walked past her. And when he was halfway upstairs she realized it was probably a good idea to just let him go. Everyone was on edge at the moment, and maybe they could talk more in the morning.

Peter went upstairs and went into his shared room, ignoring any questions that Billy and Freddy had. It took Billy telling Freddy to leave him alone and fifteen minutes for them to both stop trying to talk to him. Peter just laid in his bed, curled up under blankets, still in his clothes. He didn’t even take his shoes off. He felt sick, like if he moved he’d throw up and pass out. So he just laid there, feeling like worms and ants were crawling under his skin and telling him how disgusting he was laying there in his own filth. How disgusting he was for letting this happen and telling no one. If he hadn’t run away, if he hadn’t fought, he wouldn’t be in as much trouble. But he had run away, he had fought, and Skip had gotten to them first. Now he was in trouble and Skip had proof to support his side of the story; something Peter didn’t have.

He could hear Skip leave the house after a few minutes, and it wasn’t until hours later–nearing three in the morning–that Peter let himself actually exhale. He cried, but he kept his sobs quiet so as to not wake Billy and Freddy. He was tired, but there was no way he could sleep. So he just cried and hid under the covers like a child scared of the dark.

Peter Parker had superpowers, but he also had Parker Luck. And his superpowers couldn’t protect him from everything.

Chapter Text

The house was bustling with a nervous energy as the sun set. Rosa paced uneasily in the living room, her eyes locked to her cell phone as she called Peter for the tenth time. It went straight to voicemail. He was supposed to be back ages ago. They had given him plenty of wiggle room since he was with a trusted adult. Maybe traffic was bad? Maybe they just lost track of time? They're bound to walk through that door any second, right?  

Victor sat slumped in an armchair, feeling the heavy weight of guilt. He worried that Peter had run away because he pushed him to get help. Everyone else stayed on the main floor, close enough to the living room to check in and hear Peter's return, but far enough away to give their stressed parents space.

Knock. Knock. Knock.

Every head turned to the front door. Within the blink of an eye Rosa had spanned the distance from the living room to the door and swung it open. What she saw surprised her. Mr. Westcott stood there. His eyes showed the early signs of bruising, his nose was taped up, and there were a few drops of blood visible on his button up. But, to Rosa, the fact that he was alone was the most alarming. 

“Where's– where's Peter?” She asked desperately, looking around him in hopes that she just missed the boy. But no, he was alone. 

Mr. Westcott cleared his throat. “May I come in for a moment? So we can speak?”

Rosa felt her stomach drop, a thousand and one horrible possibilities floated through her head. But she nodded anyway. She stepped out of the way so Mr. Westcott could enter. She made eye contact with Victor and gestured up with her head. He knew what that meant and got onto his feet.

He turned to the kids and waved his arms towards the stairs. “Alright, upstairs everyone. Let's go. Adults need to talk. Go to your rooms” He pointed at Freddy and repeated, “rooms.”

Freddy looked scandalized for a moment before following along with the other kids as they packed up whatever they were doing and made their way upstairs. Singling him out was fair, he very much didn't plan to stay in his room. But he was pretty sure none of them did.

By the time the kids were upstairs, Mr. Westcott had made his way inside and into the living room. Rosa directed him to sit, which he did. She stayed standing, an anxious energy prevented her from sitting. Victor approached her from behind, pulling her into a comforting side hug. 

“Where is Peter?” She asked again, fear making way for annoyance. She had trusted Mr. Westcott with her son and he had shown up, after dark, without him. 

Mr. Westcott sighed and looked down. “He… ran off. He attacked me and ran off.”

“What?” Victor and Rosa looked at each other, confusion and worry evident in their expressions.

Upstairs, just out of view, the same expressions were mirrored on the faces of all the siblings. 

“That's not like Peter,” Darla whispered. Albeit wasn't really a whisper and Freddy covered her mouth afterwards.

Mary, who actually whispered, spoke up soon after. “She's right though. It's not.” She looked at Freddy then Billy, communicating silently with them.

Mr. Westcott continued to tell his version of events. At one point Victor stood up to get him a cup of tea, forcing the kids to quietly scramble away from the stairs as he passed by on his way to the kitchen. After that the older three sent the younger three to bed, promising to fill them in later. 

Mary, Billy, and Freddy sat around the landing at the top of the stairs, quite worried over the fate of Peter. Freddy, especially, felt a certain level of guilt. The entire time he spent with Peter in detention he had focused on what powers he might have, rather than if he was okay. Now he was missing and accused of attacking Mr. Westcott. While the broken nose could be a sign of super strength, it also could very well just be from a kid provoked too far. If Mr. Westcott had… done something to Peter and Freddy had ignored any signs in favor of figuring out Peter's potential powers, well… Freddy didn't want to ruminate too long on that. It left him with a sick feeling in the pit of his stomach. 

Freddy's self-loathing was interrupted by another series of knocks at the door. All three kids had to stop themselves from bolting down the stairs, considering they were supposed to be in their rooms. That didn't stop them from cautiously peeking around the curved stairs to see the door. 

Peter was home. He looked worse for wear with a swollen eye, disheveled clothing, and a police escort. But he was home. However, it wasn't long until they noticed he seemed very different. While he had been quiet and standoffish when he first arrived, he had slowly begun to open up. Now he seemed very distant, like he wasn't mentally present. This revelation crushed any relief they felt at his return. 

“This isn't good,” Billy whispered as they listened to the officer explain that Peter had beat the absolute shit out of a mugger. 

“Nope,” Freddy agreed. Internally he added that to his list of evidence for Peter’s powers, but he kept that to himself. 

“What should we do?” Billy looked at Mary and Freddy’s gaze soon followed. Mary’s eyebrows were scrunched up in worry as she watched the scene between Rosa and Peter unfold. This was bad. Peter was barely responsive. 

“I'll talk to them,” Mary whispered as she looked at her two younger brothers. She was the one who brought this to their attention. She would deal with it. 

She was just about to send them off when Peter said he wanted to go upstairs. They scurried off to their rooms as quietly as possible to avoid getting caught eavesdropping. Once Mary’s door had closed she leaned against it and let out a deep breath. She listened closely as footsteps made their way upstairs and down the hall. As a door opened and closed. She didn't move to relax, she couldn't. Not when she was sure Peter had been assaulted.

She heard rumors about Mr. Westcott before she started AP chemistry. About his long, lingering gazes and wandering hands. About the special attention he gave to certain students. 

But she believed that's all they were, rumors. Initially she assumed they were based on homophobia. Mr. Westcott never said he was gay, but it was common knowledge amongst the AP chemistry classes after the discovery of his social media. Bigots often tried to paint gay men as predators and Mary refused to succumb to bigotry. However she was positive they weren't just rumors now. 

She thought through her words, trying to form concrete sentences from the jumble of anxiety and fear she felt. Victor and Rosa would believe anything she said, she didn't need to worry about trying to convince them. Rather she had no proof, just her intuition. On the very slim chance that this was all a huge misunderstanding she couldn't condemn the man. But she had to let her concerns be known, for Peter’s sake. 

She waited until she was certain Mr. Westcott had left before she exited her room. She walked slowly down the hallway and paused before the top of the stairs. She could hear Rosa and Victor downstairs talking quietly amongst themselves. She steeled herself once again before continuing down the stairs, stepping loud enough to be heard by the adults. 

They quieted at her approach, giving Mary their full attention. They sat on the couch, Victor’s arm around Rosa in comfort. The atmosphere was tense and thick. Despite telling the kids to go to their rooms they couldn't really expect them to listen; they never had before. They knew whatever Mary was about to say was going to be serious. 

“Can we go for a drive and talk?” 

Rosa and Victor looked at each other, communicating silently, before turning back to Mary. “One of us should stay here with the kids,” Victor said. “Who d’you wanna talk to?”

Mary nodded and thought it over for a moment. “Mom.” She knew that Victor would hear though, they didn't keep secrets from each other.

They nodded and stood from the couch. “I'll grab my coat,” Rosa said while Victor fished around his pocket for the van keys. 

“Sorry dad,” Mary said. 

“What for?” He pulled the keys out. 

Mary shrugged, “picking mom over you.”

Victor shook his head and snickered. “It’s nothing kiddo,” he tossed the keys at Mary, who caught them easily, “as long as the van comes back in one piece, you don't need to apologize for anything.” 

Mary looked at the keys, then back up at Victor. Her dad. She felt a swell of emotions she didn't feel like untangling at the moment. So instead she closed the gap and hugged him. “Thank you.”

Victor hugged her back tightly, putting his chin on the top of her head and enveloping her completely in his comforting warmth. “Anytime sweetheart.” 

Mary’s eyes grew watery and her nose burned, but she didn't cry. The hug itself was cathartic enough. 

Rosa returned, her jacket and shoes on. She smiled sweetly at the scene and placed a hand on both family members. As the hug ended, Rosa looked at Mary. “Ready?”

Mary nodded, sniffling just once. “I'll drive.”

Rosa nodded, giving Victor a quick peck. “Sounds good to me. Let's go.”

The vibes were off Sunday morning in the Vasquez house. Victor, Rosa, and Mary worked on oatmeal, scrambled eggs, bacon, and toast for everyone. They also brewed a pot of coffee for themselves. It was better to have a few options for a family of their size. But there was no music or happy chatter or high spirits. 

Darla was the first of the younger kids to come down, she usually was an early riser. She wore pajamas and clutched a stuffed rabbit in her arms. She yawned loudly and pushed her glasses out of the way to rub her eye. “Goo’ mornin’.”

“Good morning mija,” Rosa said, stepping away from the stove to give Darla her morning hug. Victor replaced her at the stove to finish the huge batch of scrambled eggs. “Breakfast is almost ready, baby. You wanna wake up your brothers so you guys can set the table?”

Darla nodded and hurried back up the stairs to go wake the others up. Mary appeared beside Rosa and offered her freshly topped off mug of coffee. Rosa accepted it gratefully and took a sip. She could hear Darla banging on the doors and shouting for her brothers.

“Do you think he's gonna come down?” Mary asked, sipping her own cup of coffee. 

“I doubt it.” They could hear the house waking up.

“Eggs are done!” Victor took the pan off the stove, dumping the scrambled eggs into a bowl.

Rosa took another swig of her coffee. “I have a feeling it's gonna be a long day.” 

Mary hummed in agreement, looking down into her own mug. She felt the same.

Chapter Text

Peter snapped the gray lego brick into place, referencing the building instructions once more before continuing. He had a lot of gray bricks to place. 

"D’you think our team will make it to nationals," Ned said, pressing his own brick down. He sat across from Peter, working on the other side of the Lego Death Star. They had saved their pocket change for months to go halfsies on the set. It stayed at Ned’s place, since Peter’s housing wasn't very stable, and they rarely got to work on it together. 

Peter didn't need to ask any clarifying questions, he knew what Ned was talking about. “I dunno, maybe? I mean, we have a pretty solid team.” Peter shrugged, grabbing another piece and pushing up his glasses.

Ned scoffed. “Pretty solid? Dude we have you . You're like a certified genius. We got it in the bag.”

Peter shook his head, but there was a small, embarrassed smile on his lips. “Nah, I'm not a genius, I'm a nerd .” He pressed the Lego brick in and looked for the next one. It was shaped a little differently, like half a trapezoidal prism. 

“Okay? And? You're still like a modern day Einstein .”

Peter froze. It felt like every organ in him froze too; his heart, his lungs, his brain all came to a halt. He was no longer looking for the brick, rather he was looking through them. Ned had never called him Einstein before. 

“What did you say?” He kept his eyes down, afraid to look up. He knew what was there, even if he didn't want to rationalize it. 

“You're my Einstein.” That wasn't Ned’s voice. “Look at me, I want to see your pretty face.”

Every fiber of his being screamed at Peter to keep his eyes down, to not look at the monster talking to him. That if he looked he’d get caught in his gaze like a deer in headlights. And yet he felt compelled to look by some invisible force. As his gaze shifted from the safety of the gray Lego bricks, he realized he was not in control at the moment. He was simply a passive observer. Hadn't he always been just that? A bystander in his own life, lacking any form of agency or control over his own path. 

He looked at Skip– “My friends call me Skip” –Mr. Westcott and felt his world shrink down. He went to push his glasses up, but his hand only touched his face. He wasn't wearing his glasses. He doesn't wear them anymore. His hand pulled away and he noticed red on his fingertips. He touched his cheek again and even more blood came away with his hand. He was bleeding. But he had healed, hadn't he? Blood continued to pour from him despite his attempts to stem its flow, despite the fact he had already healed. All he had done was cover himself in the sticky, red liquid. 

Mr. Westcott reached out to him, but Peter couldn't move. He was stuck, he couldn't even close his eyes or flinch away. 

“I never meant to hurt you,” Mr. Westcott whispered as his hand covered Peter's wound. It remained there for far too long, scorching him and bringing tears to his eyes. 

Eventually he did pull away. “See, all better,” Mr. Westcott said with an air of smugness. Peter reached up and touched his cheek, pulling his hand away to reveal no new blood. But it wasn't better. He was still covered in the crusty, dried blood from before. It was itchy and pulled at his skin. The strong copper smell made him feel sick. He wanted to scream and cry and lash out and release all his pent up emotions but he couldn't. He was stuck. He was a yearling buck mesmerized by the dazzling lights of a semi barreling down the interstate. And there wasn't a damn thing he could do about it.

Peter woke up, along with everyone else, to the pounding of Darla at his door yelling to come down for breakfast. He didn't want to open his eyes. He didn't want to get up. He didn't want to go downstairs and pretend like he was still the same person he had been two days ago. He could hear Billy and Freddy stirring and then their feet hitting the ground. It was quiet for a moment. 

“You coming to breakfast?” Billy asked. 

Peter opened his eyes, but didn't look at either of them. He wanted to sink into his bed and disappear forever. But he could smell the food downstairs and his stomach growled. He hadn't eaten dinner last night and with his higher metabolism he felt starved. “Yeah,” he replied after a few long seconds, his voice a little hoarse, “in a bit.”

He didn't move until Freddy and Billy left the room. He just needed a moment to himself. Six years he’d been in the system, he was used to the lack of privacy. But that didn't mean he never craved it.

The first thing he did upon sitting up was take off his shoes. He’d need to wash his sheets, but that was a problem for future Peter. Right now he had to deal with the soles of his feet, they were pitch black from running around without shoes last night. 

He felt dirty and stunk in general, but he didn't have the energy to take a full shower right now. So he grabbed a change of clothes–sweatpants and a hoodie he often used for pajamas–and hurried to the bathroom. With his washcloth he performed what a previous foster parent called a “whore’s bath”, but is more appropriately called a sink bath. He quickly washed his face, pits, and privates. He thought cleaning the bottom of his feet in the sink would be difficult, but his enhanced flexibility allowed him to pull his foot inwards and upwards past his hips with ease. 

Once he felt clean enough he dressed in the sweats and braced himself for breakfast. He could hear them downstairs, enjoying their family time. Part of him knew that his appearance would shift the mood drastically. Even if they acted like nothing happened, he didn't think he could keep the charade going. 

He looked into the mirror, he'd avoided it this whole time. He looked at who he knew was Peter Benjamin Parker, and yet it didn't feel like it. His hair was greasy and longer than he realized. He couldn't remember when he'd last gotten a haircut. He pushed his hair out of his face and examined where he was hit. The swelling had gone down considerably and only the faintest hint of brownish-yellow bruising was left. The last bit of evidence from his attack. The bags under his eyes were more prominent than the bruising and he knew it'd be gone by tomorrow at the latest. 

He touched his cheekbone and temple, applying a steady pressure wherever he saw discoloration. It didn't really hurt anymore, but it did make that eye water. He looked into what he logically knew were his own eyes, but as they stared back at him it felt like he was looking at a stranger. He didn't know the boy looking back at him. That boy was dead and buried somewhere in Mr. Westcott's Brooklyn apartment. His other eye started watering, not from physical pain but from his bruised soul. He felt so lost. He just wanted to find himself. 

Maybe it was the hair. He started opening the drawers and cabinets in the bathroom, frantically looking for a pair of scissors. He needed to get this hair off, then maybe he'd feel like himself again. Maybe he'll feel like a person. A small part of him knew that a haircut wouldn't fix him, but he was so desperate for some sense of control that he ignored it. 

He dug through each messy drawer, growing more distressed as he continued to turn up empty-handed. He pulled out a pair of nail clippers, the closest thing he could find to scissors, and just looked at it. He felt like screaming. He just wanted to cut his hair. He just wanted to feel normal . But the universe wouldn't even grant him that kindness.

Peter was pulled out of his mind by a gentle rapping on the door. He wasn't sure how long he'd been in the bathroom, but he could hear the kitchen sink being filled with water and dirty dishes downstairs. He'd gotten so lost in his own head that he missed breakfast. He opened the door quickly to see Rosa standing on the other side holding a tray. The tray had scrambled eggs, bacon, and toast on a plate, a bowl of oatmeal, a glass of orange juice, and a small ramekin with various fruit pieces. She wasn't sure what Peter would've preferred, so she brought him a bit of everything. 

Peter's brain short-circuited at the sight. Not only had she saved him some breakfast, she had brought it up to him. After he dismissed her scolding last night. It was antithetical to his past experiences with foster families and it left him at a loss for what to do. So he just stared at her

"We weren't sure if you were gonna come down, so…" Rosa trailed off and shrugged her shoulders. She held the tray up to Peter for him to take it.

Peter opened his mouth and spoke without any forethought, "do you have scissors?"

Rosa raised an eyebrow, but kept her suspicions hidden. She knew Peter wasn't doing okay and didn't feel comfortable with him asking for sharp utensils in such a state. "Why?"

"I… I need to cut my hair."

Rosa felt some relief that the scissors were for his hair, but she still didn't want him to do it alone. "Oh! That's no problem. D'you wanna go to a barber?"

Peter shook his head no. The lights and sounds and smells combined with getting manhandled by a stranger would send him over the edge. Even just the thought made his stomach turn. 

"Okay, well I can cut it if you'd like? Victor has some clippers and we can do it in the backyard?"

Peter thought it over. He'd prefer to cut it himself. He'd done it more times than he could remember with everything ranging from a pair of childrens safety scissors to a box cutter. But he just wanted it gone and he was too tired to fight it. "Okay."

"Perfect, I'll get it set up. But first," she held the tray up again, "please eat."

The sight of food reminded Peter's scattered brain that he was famished. He took the tray gratefully and left the bathroom, going to his shared room to eat. And he ate everything. Not a morsel of food was left on the tray afterwards. While he wasn't completely full, having food in his stomach made him feel marginally better. 

The set-up for his haircut was… homely, in a nice way. A folding chair in the middle of the grass was the salon chair and a towel wrapped around his shoulders was the cape. Rosa had Victor's cordless clipper set and the guards that came with it. She wasn't a professional by any means, but she'd given plenty of free haircuts. She let Peter know as much as a warning; his hair would get cut and she'd try her best, but it wouldn't necessarily be good . Considering Peter was going to chop it off haphazardly in a semi-fugue state, he didn't mind. He just wanted it out of his face and for it to stop tickling the nape of his neck. 

Rosa tilted Peter's head forward and began trimming his hair from his neck to his occipital bone with the half inch guard. She made multiple passes, not wanting to miss any hair. In her other hand she held a soft bristled brush to sweep away any trimmings. She worked silently for a few minutes, the steady buzz of the clippers and the sounds of passing traffic filling the air. But she spoke eventually, her words soft. 

"I'm sorry about last night. I wasn't upset with you Peter, I was just worried." She didn't pause in her work, just maneuvered his head so she could trim around his ears with the same guard. 

Peter tensed, but remained still. He didn't want to talk about this. He cleared his throat and mumbled, "'s okay."

"It's not though," she sighed, "something happened last night, didn't it?" Rosa turned off the clippers and popped the guard off. She dug through the case in search of a longer one.

Peter felt sick. The ambiguity of the statement left him dizzy with its possible interpretations. Did she know what actually happened, or was she referencing something Mr. Westcott told her? If it was the former, how did she find out? If it was the latter, what the hell was she talking about? A small part begged for him to tell her everything, to release the burden he was holding. But even if he wanted to, he found that it was a momentous task to get any words out.

He still hadn't spoken by the time Rosa had snapped the new guard in place and returned to him. He was staring at his lap, his mouth flapping uselessly. She placed a hand on his head to tilt it back up when Peter nodded. 

She paused, "... was that a yes?" Peter nodded again. 

"Do you wanna tell me what happened?" Peter shook his head. 

" Can you tell me what happened?" Peter paused for a moment, but shook his head again. He couldn't tell her, for several reasons. 

"Okay," Rosa said, trying to think of the best questions to ask. Even if Peter wasn't really talking, this still felt like the most open he'd been with her since he arrived. “So last night, you were just with Mr. Westcott right?” 

Peter tensed up at the mention of Mr. Westcott, but nodded his head. Rosa took a mental note of that and continued. 

“Did you hit him?” Peter slowly nodded, fearful that he'd get in trouble.

Rosa chewed her lip, nervous about the answers to her next questions. “Was… was there a valid reason?” Peter nodded. 

“Did Mr. Westcott do something to you?” Peter nodded.

“Peter, did he… hurt you?” Rosa was afraid that she already knew the answer. Peter nodded after a long pause. He sniffled and wiped his eyes. He didn't know when he started crying, but he couldn't stop it now. 

“ Oh mijo ,” Rosa walked around and kneeled in front of Peter. “I'm so sorry.” She wanted to wrap him up in a big hug and comfort him, but all things considered she kept her hands to herself. 

Peter was fully sobbing now. He desperately tried to wipe away the tears, but more just took their place. The floodgates were open.

“Please, Peter, I need you to tell me what happened.” Peter shook his head, he couldn't. He couldn't say the words even if he wanted to. 

"Okay, okay," Rosa said, adjusting herself to sit comfortably on the ground. Damp grass stains on her ass be damned, one of her kids was hurting and she needed to help. "Can I hold your hand?" Her voice was gentle. She held out her hand in offering. 

Peter, still sobbing uncontrollably, took a while to respond. But eventually he removed one of his hands from his eyes, wiped it on the towel, and placed it timidly in Rosa's. 

"Let it out," Rosa gently rubbed her thumb along the back of Peter's hand, trying to soothe him. "Let it out," she held out her other hand and Peter was much quicker on the uptake. He took her other hand and Rosa rubbed her thumb along that one as well. "It's okay to cry," her soothing words urged more tears from Peter's eyes and without his hands to wipe them away he fell apart. "It's okay to not be okay." 

He wailed. A dam burst and emotion poured from him like rushing water. He screamed. It carved a destructive path as it hurtled by, a devastating sight. He wept. The man-made lake, overtaken by nature with the passage of time, drained in its wake. He sobbed. Oh, what history lies at the bottom of that lake. 

He slid off the chair and onto his knees, then directly into Rosa's arm's. While she hadn't expected a hug, Rosa was quick to react. She released Peter's hands and wrapped her arms around him. She guided him to cry into her shoulder and gently rubbed soothing circles along his upper back.

She held him like that, slowly rocking back and forth, as he cried. And once he started, Peter found that he couldn't stop. He cried over everything. His parents, his uncle, his aunt, missing Ned, Fawcett Academy, Mr. Westcott, his Parker Luck, everything . 

But he could only cry for so long. Eventually he began to quiet down, still sniffling and hiccuping but far calmer. 

"Do you feel any better?" Rosa's voice was quiet and gentle. Peter shrugged. He felt… empty. But not necessarily in a bad way. Rosa hummed in response. 

"Do you think you could answer some more questions? Just shaking and nodding your head?" Peter paused, but only for a moment. He was so tired. He nodded his head.

Chapter Text

Peter hadn't joined them for breakfast. They tried to wait, but with six hungry kids there was only so much waiting one could do. So they ate. Rosa made Peter a nice breakfast spread, set it on a tray, and took it upstairs. She wouldn't let a kid go hungry in her house.

Victor and the kids were cleaning up the remnants of breakfast when Rosa came back down. She carried Victor’s clipper set in its case and had a towel thrown over her shoulder.

“I'm gonna give Peter a haircut out back,” she said to Victor, but it was loud enough that all the kids heard. "A private one." 

Victor nodded. There was a look in Rosa's eye which explained that this was more important than just a simple haircut. With everything that Mary had told her last night, and in turn everything that Rosa told him after their return… he understood.

They watched as she exited through the back door, then continued on with the chores. Several minutes later, Peter made his way downstairs with the tray and all its dishes. They smiled and greeted him as if nothing was wrong, but the boy was closed off and tense as he dropped the tray off and made his way to the backyard.

Peter was still in the backyard with Rosa by the time the dishes were done and the kitchen was clean enough. Victor sent the kids off to do whatever they wanted as long as it didn't involve going to the backyard. 

Freddy hurried over to Billy, looking down at his phone. He tapped Billy with the phone and gave a quick, “hey look,” before shoving it in Billy’s face. It displayed the Citizen app with several alerts around Manhattan, specifically Hell’s Kitchen. 

“Looks like your Gollum guy is causing trouble,” Freddy looked excited, but he kept his voice low. 

Billy looked around, checking to see who might overhear him. “Okay, can you cover for me–”

“No!” Freddy whispered harshly immediately. “I'm coming with you. I was thinking we could two v one? Y’know, since you got your ass kicked last time.” He had a smug smile on his face.

“I did not get my ass kicked,” Billy defended, “but fine,” having an extra set of superpowered hands would be helpful. “Let's go.”

“Billy and I are heading out! We'll be back soon!” Freddy shouted as they headed towards the door. They slipped out before getting a response. It was a Sunday, their chores were done, and Victor and Rosa were going to be busy all day. They’d be fine. 

Once they got about a block away from the house they Shazamed in an alleyway and flew off towards Manhattan. Freddy kept one eye on his phone as they went, waiting for a new reported sighting to help narrow down their search. They crossed over the east river and entered Manhattan near the upper east side. They continued over Central Park where they slowed to a stop, floating in midair. Billy scanned the skyline with his eyes, looking for any commotion or indication that Green Goblin had been there. Freddy, on the other hand, was looking at his phone. He was searching through recent sightings to figure out where Green Goblin might be. 

"Oh!" Freddy shouted. Someone just posted about seeing a flying green guy near Dewitt Clinton Park. "Follow me!" He put his phone away before speeding off towards Hell's Kitchen. 

They were only a block away from the docks, near some warehouses, when there was a loud BOOM! 

Both Freddy and Billy turned to the source of the noise. There was a thin smoke trail coming from a derelict warehouse's open second-story window. All the warehouse's first story windows were boarded up to prevent squatters. Without a word they both rushed into the building, bursting through the second story windows like they were made of paper. 

A lot happened all at once. Billy and Freddy's loud entrance caught the attention of Green Goblin who stood on his sputtering hoverboard. He looked at the pair with vitriol in his eyes. Within a moment a stick flipped through the air from ground level and pelted the distracted Green Goblin in the head.

The freak screeched and the glider moved erratically as he tried to correct his balance. The ground level of the warehouse was cast in shadow so Billy and Freddy couldn't see who threw the stick, but all things considered they seemed to be on the same side. 

Freddy went right for Green Goblin, tackling him around the middle and smashing him through a pillar. Freddy planned to smash Green Goblin into the ground, but the squirrely bastard used his rocket powered glider to weasel out of Freddy’s grasp at the last second. Causing Freddy to smash himself into the concrete instead. Thankfully Billy was close behind him and quickly grabbed onto the glider as he tried to speed away. 

The abrupt stop forced Green Goblin off balance. Billy took the opportunity and started spinning in place, holding the glider at an arm's length and picking up speed. He aimed the glider down and released, letting the aircraft and its rider smash into the ground as intended.

By this point Freddy had stood up and shaken off the impact. He thanked the universe for his powers and prepared to rejoin the fight when he noticed him. In the shadows behind a crate was a man dressed in all red. That must've been the guy who threw the stick at Green Goblin. Definitely a hero with that outfit. 

Freddy zoomed next to him and expected to get some kind of reaction. Nothing. The stranger ignored him and vaulted over the crate to the downed villain just as Billy floated to the ground. Freddy followed along. Billy ripped the glider from Green Goblin and tossed it to the other side of the warehouse. He placed his foot on Green Goblin's chest and used his superior strength to keep him pinned.

Putting on the toughest demeanor he could manage, Billy spoke. “What're you up to?”

Green Goblin looked at him blankly for a moment before laughing maniacally. His lungs rattled and popped with every sound he made. “Now, why in the world would I tell you that? So you could stop me?” He continued laughing, a hoarse and painful sounding laugh. "I'm not some common idiot, monologuing about his plans. You'll have to try harder!"

Billy glowered and crossed his arms in response. He applied just a bit more pressure on Green Goblin's chest, making the villains laugh even more wheezy. The stranger stepped up to Green Goblin and kicked him squarely in the head. The laughing stopped abruptly and was replaced with angry shrieking as Green Goblin clawed viciously at the leg keeping him pinned. It kind of tickled Billy. 

Freddy was able to see the strangers' costume better away from the crates. It took him a few seconds to realize who was standing right in front of him. "Wait a minute… you're Daredevil! The Devil of Hell's Kitchen!" Freddy playfully smacked his head, "duh, of course you are. Where are we?" He laughed awkwardly. Only half of Daredevil's face was hidden behind a mask, so Freddy could clearly see him scowling. He puffed out his shoulders, remembering that he looked like a grown-up superhero and should act the part. "Um, yes. You've been doing a good job keeping the streets clean." 

He reached his hand out to place it on Daredevil's shoulder, but before it could make contact Daredevil smacked it away. "Don't touch me." 

Freddy raised his hands and stepped back. Daredevil continued speaking, his voice rough and gravelly. 

"He's transporting something." Green Goblin stopped scratching at Billy's leg. "He's popped in and out of this building five times today." Billy and Freddy both listened to Daredevil intently as he walked towards one of the crates. "Whatever he's moving, it's likely in here." He jammed the billy club he hadn't thrown at Green Goblin into the side of the crate and began to wedge it open.

Daredevil worked his billy club around the side until enough nails were loosened. Freddy quietly muttered, "I could've done it much quicker," under his breath when it finally popped open and Billy shushed him. 

Daredevil pulled out an airtight vial filled with a yellowish-green liquid. There was a faint whirring noise. He held it up to his face for a moment, it almost looked like he was sniffing it. "I have no idea what this–" he cut himself off and jumped. But it wasn't enough. 

Green Goblin's glider swiped Daredevil, picking him up a few feet and throwing him across the warehouse. Both Billy and Freddy sped off to catch the vigilante before he hit the ground. Billy got to him first and could see a large bloody gash on his side. He looked at Freddy. 

"What're you doing?!" Freddy shouted.

"Saving his life!" Billy shouted back. The blood was starting to freak him out a bit. 

"You had the goblin guy!"

"Shit."

They both looked back to where Green Goblin had been, only to see him climbing back onto his glider. Somehow looking more gnarled than before. He was holding a remote in his hand. He sneered at them as the glider lifted him higher. 

"Get him!" Billy yelled and Freddy nodded. 

Green Goblin pressed a button on the remote.

BOOM-BOOM-BOOM-BOOM!

It was a cacophony of light and sound as a series of explosions went off. Green Goblin slipped out of the warehouse through an open window as it began to collapse. He had rigged the building to explode. Tons of rubble came crashing down on the trio. For a split second Freddy considered running, he and Billy could probably make it out untouched with their superspeed. But he looked at Billy holding Daredevil and knew that they couldn't get Daredevil out unscathed if they did that. It seemed like Billy had come to the same conclusion as he hunkered down and tried to cover the downed vigilante's body with his own. Freddy joined him, the world in slow motion, as they locked shoulders and shielded Daredevil from the falling rubble. 

Rosa eventually finished cutting Peter’s hair and he finally took a shower. The process cleansed him in more ways than one. He felt almost refreshed, like a parched man in the desert given a sip of water. Sure, it wet his whistle and let him continue for longer, but it didn't address the root of the issue at all. He was still in the desert and still dying of dehydration. 

Once he was dressed, Peter left his room and was hit with a familiar scent at the top of the stairs. He paused and sniffed the air a few times, trying to match the smell to the memory. It was floral and delicate, yet still almost overwhelming to his nose. It was definitely a perfume, but not one he'd smelled in the house before. He took the plunge and went downstairs to see who was wearing the familiar scent.

Oh. It was Charlise. His case worker. He'd smelled her perfume many times before, just never with enhanced smell. That made sense. Didn't mean he was happy about it, but it made sense. Victor, Rosa, and Charlise were all sitting in the living room as Peter approached. Charlise was the first to take notice of his arrival.

“Peter,” she smiled and her tone was calm, but he could tell she was annoyed with him, “I'd say it's good to see you again, but it really hasn't been that long.” 

“I could say the same,” he fully stepped into the living room, he felt exposed with all the adults looking at him. “What… what’re you doing here?” His eyes darted between Rosa and Victor and Charlise, did they call her in to take him away?

Charlise flipped open a folder, Peter’s folder, and scanned the pages within. “I got a report that a certain Peter Parker was involved in an attempted mugging last night–” Peter opened his mouth to cut her off and explain that he stopped the mugging, but Victor and Rosa beat him to it, jumping to his defense without hesitation. 

“Hey now!” Victor started.

“Wait, wait, wait, I talked to the officer last night and Peter saved that young woman.”

Charlise looked at them and let them speak, once it was quiet she spoke again. “If you’d let me continue I was going to say that he acted as a Good Samaritan.” She turned to Peter, “you were a hero.”

She gave Peter a small smile and the boy felt baffled for a moment. He'd never gotten a home visit from her or any other social worker for something good. “But,” Charlise said, closing the folder and the smile dropping. There it was,  “it was still an incident involving a police report so I need to investigate. Remember, Peter, you're on thin ice. You might've done a good thing, but you really need to just lay low right now. You can't go around playing vigilante. That will get you sent upstate. Do you understand?”

Peter nodded and Charlise continued, taking complete control of the room. “Now, I'll interview you all separately. Is there a place we can go for some privacy? Maybe your room?” Peter nodded. “Good, why don't you show me there?”

And Peter did just that. He led Charlise up to the room he shared with Billy and Freddy. Those two were long gone, off having some kind of adventure. She asked him what stuff belonged to him and how he liked living here. Peter was used to the spiel but found he could answer honestly. He did like living here. 

Then the interview began. Peter basically explained everything that happened leading up to the mugging. Minus the superpowers of course. He explained how he was barred from AP chemistry classes, how a teacher offered to tutor him, how he got in a fight with Victor, how the teacher took him to his apartment to calm down. Then he froze. He couldn't explain what happened next. So he skipped it and moved onto how he ran away and ended up in Jackson Heights. But Charlise wasn't having it. 

“I'm sorry, you said a teacher took you to their house?”

“Their apartment… yeah.”

Charlise hummed and wrote something down. “What happened there?”

Peter realized that Charlise didn't know he attacked Mr. Westcott. He hadn't reported Peter to the police. Though it wasn't difficult to figure out why; Mr. Westcott had done something far more illegal. 

“I don't know.” Peter felt so raw. After his ‘talk’ with Rosa, Peter didn't have much fight left in him to keep it hidden. He felt his nose burn like he was about to cry, but he didn't have any more tears right now. 

“Peter, seriously, this isn't the time to beat around the bush. What happened?”

“No, Charlise, you don't understand. I– I don't know.” He looked at her with pleading eyes. He was telling the truth. He wasn't sure what happened exactly. “He gave me some hot chocolate and– and then I just… I don't know. I don't remember.” 

Charlise was quiet for a moment as she processed what that meant. Her mouth became a hard line as she looked away in thought. She closed her eyes, took a deep breath, and recomposed herself. Her features softened as she looked back at Peter. “I’m going to need his name and anything else you know about him.”

Peter felt like he had just made a terrible mistake. He felt every inch of himself crawling with an unshakable anxiety telling him that he'd just majorly fucked up. It felt even worse since he didn't know why. Logically he had done the right thing. He had told Charlise everything he could about what Mr. Westcott did to him. It had taken well over an hour and he was completely drained. But he'd done it. 

Now he sat in the kitchen, picking at a decent sized lunch, while Charlise interviewed Rosa in his room. He was undeniably hungry, but his brain was racing too fast to focus on eating. He replayed what he could remember of his conversation with her over and over again in his head. He tried to figure out the most likely series of events to occur. He knew his life was about to become far more hectic when all he wanted was some semblance of normalcy for once.

It also didn't help that Peter could hear their conversation, clear as day if he focused on it, and it didn't sound good. Charlise was mad–fair enough–but she was putting blame on the wrong people. 

“So, you knew and didn't do anything?” He could hear Charlise ask. 

“Well, no, I just found out before you showed up. I haven't had time to do anything.” Rosa defended.

“What were you going to do?” 

“I'm gonna involve the police. And try to get it dealt with without retraumatizing him.”

“Hmm,” Peter could hear the scratching of pen on paper and wondered what Charlise was writing. “And you approved of him meeting with an unfamiliar adult male on the weekends? With no supervision?”

“What? It was a teacher, for tutoring–”

“In the teacher's private residence.”

“No! It was supposed to be a cafe. We had no idea Mr. Westcott took him anywhere. He did not have permission.”

“So, you weren't aware of Peter’s location?” More scratching. 

“What?” 

“And, where are your other kids? Peter shares this room with two other boys right?”

“Yeah, he does. They're out right now.”

“Where?”

There's a pause. And Peter could feel his stomach roll as he heard Charlise write something down. 

“Let me call them.” Rosa said and Peter could hear the phone ring as she called one of them. And it rang. And rang some more. And then she got Freddy's voicemail. She chuckled nervously and tried again, only this time she got Billy's voicemail. Peter heard Charlise write down more. 

“I think,” Charlise started, “you might have too much on your plate Rosa. I mean, seven is a lot of foster kids to keep track of. You and Victor can't possibly give each kid the attention they need. And kids like Peter… they need extra attention.”

“What are you suggesting?”

“I just think placing Peter here might've been a mistake.”

There it was. There was Peter's fuck up. Telling Charlise had been a mistake. Now she was going to remove him and the only place he had left to go was upstate. Peter felt sick. 

“No.” That was Rosa’s voice. And it stopped Peter’s spiral of dark thoughts in its tracks. “We want him here.”

“That might not be up to you–”

“No, but it should be up to him. Did you ask him or did you make the decision for him?”

“Excuse me?”

“Did you ask Peter what he wants?”

“It's not about what he wants. It's about what's best for him.”

“And he should be a part of that conversation.”

Charlise sighed. “Like it or not Ms. Vasquez, Peter will probably be moving out soon.” He could hear shuffling. “And I'd watch how you talk to me. I read somewhere that Billy was a troubled case. A runaway. And it seems like… that's right, no one knows where he is right now? Do they?” The threat was clear as day. “I think this interview is over.”

Chapter Text

Billy and Freddy stayed locked together, supporting the weight of a collapsed warehouse on their backs to protect Daredevil. They stayed like that until the rubble settled. It had kicked up a huge cloud of dust that dirtied every pocket of air and coated every surface under the debris. While that wasn't really a problem for Billy and Freddy in their superhero forms, they doubted it would do any good to the vigilante with a gaping wound in his side. 

They worked together to push the reinforced concrete slabs and other miscellaneous detritus off their backs as a unit. While they could've just burst through the several tons of building rubble without breaking a sweat; they didn't want anything to break off and fall between them right onto Daredevil. 

Once they cleared the rubble from above them fresh air and light flooded in. As the light from the midday sun illumunaited the scene, Billy and Freddy could see a pool of blood forming under Daredevil. The two fourteen year old boys masquerading as adult superheroes felt queasy at the sight. They were really out of their depths here. 

Sirens blared in the distance and grew louder by the second. Emergency services were on their way. Someone must've called after hearing explosions and a subsequent building collapse, not to mention the cloud of dust and smoke floating in the air. Fair enough.

"We gotta move him," Freddy said, scooping Daredevil up. 

"What why?" Billy asked, looking in the direction of the sirens. "They're probably bringing an ambulance," he looked at Daredevil's wound and grimaced, "and he definitely needs an ambulance."

As if roused by the mere mention of professional healthcare, Daredevil groaned. Both Billy and Freddy yelped and the latter nearly dropped the injured man. 

"Oh shit he's alive– he's awake." Billy said

"No hospitals." Daredevil said, his voice rough. The sirens were growing louder and louder. 

"C'mon," Freddy said, but didn't wait for Billy. He took off, flying into the air and away from the remains of the warehouse. After a moment, Billy followed. 

They flew several blocks away from the scene then landed on a rooftop. All the while Daredevil continued to regain partial consciousness.

Freddy laid him gently on the gravel to better assess the situation, only for Daredevil to try and sit up and shuffle away. 

“Hey!” Both Billy and Freddy yelled. Billy continued to speak. “Seriously dude, you need to chill. Your guts are nearly hanging out.” 

Daredevil stared at him for a moment before touching his wounded side. He hissed sharply and quickly drew his hand away. Billy and Freddy grimaced in sympathy.

“‘ll be fine,” Daredevil said, slurring his words a bit. He had lost a lot of blood so far. And yet, he still tried to get back up, only to yell out in pain and crumple back down. 

“You really need some help man,” Freddy said, his eyebrows knitted together in worry. They were practically indestructible in these forms and had no need for first aid, and outside these forms they were just dumb kids and didn't know how to medically intervene. “Is there… is there somewhere we can take you? Someone who can help?”

Daredevil sighed, which sounded more like a groan than anything else, and stayed quiet for way too long. Billy and Freddy grew worried that he might've passed out since they couldn't see his eyes, but surely enough he spoke once he finished being dramatic. “Yeah,” his voice was quiet. It still had the gravelly quality, but he sounded winded, “I know someone.”

Billy knocked cautiously on the apartment door. Freddy stood slightly behind him carrying a bloody and dazed Daredevil in his arms. The three of them were covered in a layer of dust and vigilante blood. Definitely a sight to see. 

The door opened slightly, only as much as the chain lock allowed, and a dark haired woman peeked through the gap. “Hello?” She said, her voice groggy from sleep. 

“Um, hey,” Billy waved awkwardly, “are you Claire?” He didn't wait for an answer. He just stepped out of the way so she could see Daredevil. “Your friend said to come here?”

“Shit,” was her response and the door slammed shut. Billy could hear the chain lock being undone right before the door swung fully open. “Bring him in.” 

They hurried into the apartment and Claire closed the door behind them. All the blinds were closed to block the sunlight and she was dressed in simple pajamas. She had been asleep. 

“Set him in there, on the couch.” They followed her orders without hesitation. She disappeared into a room and returned with a medical bag. She promptly kneeled next to Daredevil to examine his wound. "What happened?"

Freddy and Billy looked at each other before Billy spoke up. "A pointy hoverboard thing sliced him…"

Claire looked up at Billy, her eyebrows furrowed in confusion, "what?"

"And then a building collapsed on us," Freddy helpfully supplied. 

"What!?" 

"But we– we covered him!" Billy jumped in. "The building thing is totally not the issue. That's just why he's dusty." 

"Whatever." Claire shook her head and turned back to Daredevil. She had far more pressing issues to focus on. Like how she couldn't see the extent of the damage through his suit. "Shit. I need to get this off him. Sit him up for me."

Freddy hurried to help, sitting Daredevil up as gently as he could. Claire grabbed Daredevil's mask and, lacking even a modicum of hesitation, pulled it off.  

Freddy, despite already sitting behind the vigilante, averted his eyes. As much as he'd love being privy to a superheroes secret identity, it felt wrong to do it during such a vulnerable time. He was a superhero himself now and he'd like the same respect. 

Billy, on the other hand, didn't look away. He just fretted nervously with the dried blood on his arms and suit. It was just some guy. There were over eight million people in New York City. He had no idea who this was and doubted he'd ever see him again.

"Dude!" Freddy hissed at Billy, "stop looking!" 

Billy looked at him confused, "why?"

"It's like hero manners. Respect the secret identity."

"It's straight up some average looking guy. I couldn't pick him out of a crowd."

"Yeah, but it's the principle of the thing man. You–"

"Can you shut up!?" Claire interrupted. She had gotten Daredevil's top off while the two argued. "I'm trying to save a life, before my twelve hour shift mind you, and you two are bickering like children. Now lay him back down and shut up or leave." 

She stared them down hard and Freddy gently laid Daredevil back on the couch. 

"Yes, ma'am." They both said. Despite their stature and status as superheroes, they were easily cowed by Claire. 

Freddy took this opportunity to check his phone and was shocked to see the time. They had been gone for a few hours at this point and he had several missed calls and texts from his family. 

Freddy looked at Billy, who was still looking at Daredevil, and hit his arm to get his attention. Billy looked at him and Freddy showed him his phone with all the message notifications. He nodded his head to the door. “I think maybe we should go.”

Billy nodded, but turned back to Claire to ask a question. “Is he gonna be okay?”

Claire paused in her work. She was pulling out everything she needed to perform sutures. She shrugged. “Probably. He's been through much worse.” She looked at him as she spoke, then quickly resumed her work.

“Okay.” Billy said, but it was more for himself than Claire. He turned to Freddy. “Let’s go.” And they did, leaving the way they came. 

When they made it out of the apartment they flew up into the Manhattan skyline before making their way back to Queens. They landed a few blocks away from their house and Shazamed in a different alleyway. The first thing Billy did upon returning to his regular body was check his hands and torso. He was clean. He looked no different than when he left. No blood, no dust, nothing. That definitely made cleaning up after easier, but it somehow felt… wrong.

He couldn't stand around ruminating on it for long as Freddy was leaving the alleyway towards home. He caught up quickly and heard Freddy in the middle of a rant. 

“–can’t believe you looked. And you just kept looking. Like it's etiquette! No one’s gonna respect you as a hero if you're going around looking at everyone's secret identities. D’ya hear what I said there? Secret identities. They're secret for a reason! If you look, it defeats the whole purpose.”

Freddy continued on for their entire walk home. Billy didn't listen to a word he said. He went back to thinking about how the blood and dust and all the evidence a man nearly died in his arms had disappeared during his transformation.

As they approached the house the atmosphere felt off. It felt oddly quiet for this time of day. Even from outside you could often hear some kind of commotion from the Vasquez house, but not right now. Billy hushed Freddy as they climbed the steps and opened the door. They were greeted with the sight of everyone huddled in the living room. With the sound of the door several heads popped up to see who arrived, and Billy could tell they were in trouble from their expressions. 

“Phones. Now.” Victor said. He looked annoyed. He held his hand out to collect the devices.

“What?! Why?!” Freddy took his phone from his pocket and clutched it close. It was his main source of both superhero news and regular events they could turn into superhero news. 

“You have phones so we can get in touch with you. You don't answer your phone, you don't get to have it.”

Billy was the first to hand over his phone. He had an inkling that the less fuss he made the sooner he'd get it back. Freddy turned his phone on and the screen lit up with the dozen or so notifications for messages and missed calls from earlier. All of which he'd forgotten to respond to. Okay yeah, getting his phone taken away was pretty fair. 

He begrudgingly handed it over to Victor who pocketed both. 

Despite the dramatics of it, they both knew it was very likely they'd get their phones back tomorrow morning before school. They'd had them taken away for lack of communication, but the inability to communicate would be too stressful for Victor and Rosa. They might take the school bus, but New York could be dangerous.

Chapter Text

Peter found that he couldn't sleep much that night. He felt restless and anxious and so unbelievably stupid. He truly was cursed with Parker Luck. His accusations of Mr. Westcott had brought suspicion upon Victor and Rosa’s parenting. If they were deemed unfit, what would happen to the rest of the kids? He already heard Charlise make a thinly veiled threat against Billy’s placement here. What's to say she'd stop there? Would he inadvertently rip apart an entire family?

Once he was positive both Billy and Freddy were in a deep sleep he slipped out of his bed and silently crept to the window. He stuck his hand to the glass, surprised he could stick to such a smooth surface, and opened it. He crawled through the window without a sound and stuck himself to the outside of the house. His pajamas billowed in the breeze and goosebumps spread wherever the wind touched. 

Slowly, he climbed up the side of the house until he made it to the roof. He pulled himself up with the same ease one might have picking up a pencil. On the roof he curled in on himself, sticking his feet to the slanted tiles and wrapping his arms around his bent legs. He placed his chin on his knees and looked out into the night sky. There were no stars, just the lights of planes and helicopters. Any light from a real star was drowned out by light pollution. The glow from the city was beautiful too, in its own way. While far inferior to the shimmer of suns unfathomably distant from him, the glow and hum of the city called to him all the same. And getting to the city was far more tangible than the stars he couldn't even see. 

The cool air, the height, the view. All these cleared Peter’s head of worry for the moment. He closed his eyes and just felt the wind whip around him. It was a pleasant sensation. One he wanted to experience ten fold. He wanted to fly.

But he didn't get that power. No, he was sticky. Sure, he had other powers, but none that were inherently helpful in soaring through the city. A miniscule part of him considered it a good thing. If he could fly, he was sure he'd just leave and never come back. Where would he go? Peter had no idea. But he'd be free and that's what mattered. Free from OCFS, free from social workers, free from foster families. 

But at what cost? 

The more he thought about it, the more unappealing the notion seemed. For so long he would run away and strive to live independently, but it was hard. He managed to avoid OCFS for a few days at a time in the past, but it was always so difficult. He'd struggle to find food, shelter, or even an ounce of respect from anyone. But it had always been better than the alternative.

Not so much anymore. 

He found he actually liked the Vasquez house. He preferred living here to being alone and struggling. While that sounded like a backhanded compliment, it wasn't to Peter. He didn't really remember life another way. He was freshly nine years old the last time he felt any semblance of familial domesticity or love. Those happy memories with his aunt and uncle were fragmented and rough compared to his more recent traumas. His desire to stay was a huge step in the right direction. 

And what did he do? Fuck it up. 

Peter let out a sigh and silently cursed his Parker Luck. 

Hell, he should feel lucky to have powers at all. He was able to do so much more than he ever could before. The world was a different place for him now. While being a homeless fifteen-year-old was difficult, he could probably manage it with his newfound powers. That would be his back-up plan, should Charlise actually try to remove him. 

For now though, maybe he could make a difference. He looked out into the city when skybeam searchlights flickered to life from somewhere in the heart of Manhattan. Three different colored rays of high-intensity light danced around each other, probably to promote some event; there wasn't an emblem and this wasn't Gotham. Peter thought about what Charlise told him earlier.

“You can't go around playing vigilante.”

He wasn't so sure about that.

Peter didn't go to school Monday morning. He didn't skip it. In fact he had been planning on going when Rosa offered to call him out. He had no reason to argue, since he hadn't wanted to go in the first place.

So, with all his foster siblings at Fawcett, Victor at work, and Rosa out running errands, Peter was alone. Despite his lack of sleep last night, he wasn't tired enough to go back to bed. Instead he gathered up his sheets to finally wash them. But, upon entering the laundry room, he was met with an unfortunate sight. The dryer was taped shut with a sticky note stuck to it. The sticky note read:

Broken. Sry :(

Gotta hang dry.

And then below that, in a different color pen and what was definitely Freddy's chicken scratch handwriting:

like ye olden days

Peter shook his head, dumped the sheets into the washer, added some detergent, and started the cycle. He then turned to the forsaken dryer and opened it like the tape wasn't even there. He looked inside and saw nothing visibly wrong with the drum. He'd have to take it apart.

He found an incomplete, in his own opinion, toolset and used that to unscrew the outer panels. Anywhere that he couldn't find an appropriate tool for, his stickiness and super strength came to the rescue. He didn't have to worry about having enough leverage to loosen a bolt when he could just pinch and stick to it. 

It didn't take long before he saw a problem. Maybe not the problem, but it certainly wasn't helping. The inner mechanisms were absolutely covered in lint. He pulled out huge clumps of compacted lint that filled the empty space of the machine. And as he pulled the clumps out they fell apart into clouds of dust and dead skin cells and also socks. Lots and lots of socks. He found at least fifteen individual socks of various sizes and designs.

Once he had gotten the lint cleaned up and the socks in the hamper he was able to find the real problem. Lint had worked its way under the cover that protected the motor from, well, lint. The motor might work again if he cleaned it up, but the wires looked fried. He thought it best to just replace it, and he knew exactly where to go. 

He ran up to his room, got dressed, grabbed his bag, and dumped it out. He hadn't fully cleared it out in a long time and a faded blue envelope slipped out from its depths. He paused and eyed up the envelope. Memories of his aunt, uncle, and his ninth birthday clawed their way up to the forefront for his mind. As if in slow motion, he picked it up and examined it. The corners were frayed and there were a few stains, but it was otherwise fine. 

He was surprised he still had it. After all the moving and running away it stayed with him. It pulled at his heart in a way he couldn't express but was well used to, a bittersweet feeling that would stick with him for a while. He opened the envelope up and pulled out a colorful birthday card. On the cover was a cartoon depiction of Iron Man and he paused to look at it. His face burned with growing tears at the knowledge of the message inside. He'd read it before. Of course he had. The first time he was alone after he found it–after their deaths–he'd read it. But he'd cried so hard, it hurt him so much to know he'd never get to see them again, so he hid it away. 

He took a deep breath and steeled himself before opening the card up. He ignored the line of generic print in the center and began to read Ben's slanted handwriting:

Dear Peter,

Happy Birthday bud! We can't believe you're already 9 years old! We love you soooooo much! We know things have been hard for you, we know we can't get you all the coolest gadgets and gizmos and we're sorry for that. We'd give you the world if we could, kiddo. You are the greatest thing that has ever happened to us and your parents would say the same thing if they were here today. You are so loved Petey. You are so special. And we are so thankful to have you in our lives. 

We know that you're going to do something special one day. You're so smart. Waaaaay smarter than either of us were at 9. Smarter than us even now I bet. You could grow up to be the next Tony Stark! Maybe not exactly like him. You'd be better, smarter, kinder. Just remember son, with great power comes great responsibility . 

Love you to the moon and back,

Uncle Ben & Aunt May <3 <3 <3

Peter was crying. He tensed his jaw and ground his teeth against the sting in his nose. Fuck. That's why he had hid it away. He wiped his eyes and returned the card to its envelope. He was familiar with this pain, this aching hurt settled deep within his core. It never really left him, but he could ignore it. It was a lot harder to ignore right now, but he could. He could. He just had to distract himself. And tinkering was a perfect distraction.

He hid the envelope away in his underwear drawer. Out of sight out of mind. He went back to his backpack and double checked that there were no more surprises for him. Once he made sure it was empty he threw it over his shoulder, ran down the stairs, and left the house. 

It took a few bus and subway transfers but he made it to a household waste facility. Also known as a dump for things the garbage man won't pick up. It was closed at this time, it only operated on Saturdays, which was perfect for Peter since he doubted they'd allow a teenager to root through the trash.

He scaled the barbed-wire fence with ease, his powers making it a non-issue, and looked out at the cement graveyard of discarded household appliances. Luckily everything was organized and the large grouping of washing machines was easy to spot. Since he wasn't planning on putting these machines back together he just stuck his hand to the front panels and ripped them off. He looked for machines that had outer damage in the hope their motors would be fine. It took a few tries but he found two motors the same make and model as the one back home and they looked pretty decent. 

He stuffed them in his backpack but didn't zip it up. He had a little more room left and there was a lot of cool stuff here he could tinker with. So he searched around for random bits and bobs that looked in good enough shape that he could do something with them. He wasn't really sure what he'd do, but he wanted them nonetheless. He filled his backpack. Every crevice and pocket was stuffed full with salvaged technology. Once he felt satisfied he zipped his bag up and started back to the house the way he came.

He was relieved to see the house still empty when he got back. He wasn't gone that long, but he didn't know when Rosa would come home. He wanted to get the dryer fixed before she got back. He doubted she'd be elated to see her dryer disassembled. 

But to get to the pilfered motors he had to empty out his backpack, so he did just that into one of his drawers in his bedroom. He also had to locate the breaker box and turn off the power, which was easier said than done. It took him a bit to find it, but he was happy to see it was clearly labeled. He flipped off whatever he thought the dryer might be connected to before he finally began his repair.

By the light of his phone he disconnected the original motor and attached the new one. Well, new to him. Once he felt confident he had put it in right he flipped the breaker switches back on and tested it out without the front panel. 

It worked! The motor spun the fan and the drum! 

Pride swelled up in his chest and he felt the best he'd felt in weeks. He solved a problem the adults seemingly couldn't. He'd accomplished something. Even if his victory was small it meant so much to him in that moment. Physically, it meant he wouldn't have to hang dry his sheets. Emotionally, it meant he'd finally done something right. 

He finished tightening the dryer’s front panel when he heard the front door open. He quickly transferred his sheets from the washer to the dryer and started it up before hurrying to find Rosa. 

He found her in the living room. She was taking her shoes off but slowed down when she caught sight of Peter. He was smiling, bigger than she'd ever seen him smile.

“Hey…” she said, a little suspiciously.

“Hey,” Peter replied. 

Then she heard it. The telltale banging of their old dryer. “Are you using the dryer?” Peter nodded, still smiling. “How? It doesn't work?”

“I fixed it.”

Rosa blinked. Out of every response he could've given, she wasn't expecting that. “You did? How?”

Peter shrugged, a little bashful. “I like to tinker with things.”

She blinked again, just in awe that Peter had fixed their decades old dryer on a whim. But she shook it off quickly. Whether or not it was genius-level behavior, it was still a kindness for him to do that. And she wanted to reward him. “Well… that's– that's amazing. Thank you Peter.” She pulled out her phone, “let's get some lunch delivered. Whatever you want, sound good?” She smiled conspiratorially, “but you can't tell the others or they'll get jealous okay?”

Chapter Text

'Ro-sa Vas-qu-ez. Ro-sa Vas-qu-ez. Ro-sa Vas-'

Matthew Murdock awoke with a start to the electronic voice of his caller ID. He tapped the phone situated on his nightstand, answering the call with speakerphone on, while he remained laid out in bed.

"Hello?" 

"Matt! Hey, it's Rosa. This isn't a bad time, is it?"

"No, it's fine," He moved to sit up, but a very sharp pain on his side reminded him why he'd slept in this morning instead of going to work. "Is everything okay?"

"Yeah, great!" Something in her voice suggested otherwise, but it wasn't his place to pry. "I just– I was wondering if– well… I need help. Legal help. I'm not sure I can trust anyone else with it."

Matt considered it for a moment. He and Rosa weren't exactly strangers, but he'd hardly call them close friends. They’d met in a foster home when they were young– well when he was young. Afterwards, they'd somewhat kept in touch, mostly as a just-in-case , and it'd been years since they'd last talked. So her calling him this early in the day and asking for legal help was already strange enough as it was. Secondly, he couldn't imagine what Rosa Vasquez of all people would need legal help with. 

"What happened?"

"I'd prefer talking about it in person if that's okay. Maybe I could stop by your office? That’s in Hell’s Kitchen, right?"

Matt hadn't really planned on going to the office today. In part because the injury on his side was still rather painful; in part because Claire told him he needed rest and that she'd kill him if she heard about Daredevil jumping around rooftops in the next week or two. Mostly because Foggy would yell at him if Matt even thought about walking to the office with fresh stitches.

Oh well. Foggy had yelled at him plenty of times for far less, it was nothing new. Besides, he was sure he could keep himself from ripping any stitches for the next couple of hours. Probably.

"Sure. I'll meet you there."

Luckily, the law offices of Nelson, Murdock and Page were not far from his apartment. Although, moving as slowly as he was, it took him about twice as long to get there than it normally would. Once he arrived, he was more than looking forward to sitting back down, and already dreading the walk back home.

"Matt, hey!" Becky was the first to greet him. "Shouldn't you be in bed? Foggy said you weren't feeling well today." 

Becky had been working as their new secretary for barely a month now, and had seen Matt take 'sick days' on a near weekly basis. She probably thought he was an addict or involved in some type of illicit behavior because of it. Maybe the latter wasn't entirely inaccurate. Either way, Foggy and Karen weren't much help in that regard, always excusing his absences. In all fairness, Matt didn't really mind as long as it kept Becky away from his secret identity. There were already way too many people who knew.

"Yeah, I–" He started to answer, before being interrupted by Foggy walking out of his office.

"What the hell are you doing here?!" Was Foggy's way of greeting him.

"Foggy, I'm fine."

"The hell you are! You're supposed to be resting, man!"

"I know, but something came up. I can handle sitting down for a few minutes."

"You just got–!" Foggy stopped himself from saying more, but Matt could tell this was far from the end of their conversation. Instead, Foggy just took a deep breath, turned to their secretary, "Becky could you excuse us for a moment? Matthew, come on," and made his way into Matt's office without waiting for a response.

Becky had been looking between him and Foggy like she was watching a tennis match. For better or worse, this type of interaction was also something she had grown used to over the month she'd worked here. Matt approached her desk.

"Hey, Becky, I've got a potential new client coming over," he told her, "Rosa Vasquez. She should be here in a few minutes. Could you let me know when she arrives?"

"Even if Foggy is yelling at you when she gets here?"

" Especially if Foggy is yelling at me when she gets here," he smiled at her just as he heard Foggy yell ‘Matthew!’ . Matt begrudgingly entered his office.

This argument came up often enough that Matt knew the drill; he just made his way over to his desk. Foggy closed the door a little harder than normal, but he didn't necessarily slam it. 

“Where’s Karen?” Matt asked nonchalantly as he leaned against his desk.

“Out. And don’t change the subject! You got sliced by a rogue rocket yesterday, you can’t be running around!”

“I don’t think rocket is the right word for it. And I’m not running around. I walked over here.”

“ Ha-ha , very funny, smartass,” Foggy said sarcastically. Matt just smiled cheekily. “You cannot be serious right now.”

“Something came up! An old friend of mine called, needs legal rep. I told her I’d meet her here. It shouldn’t take more than a few minutes, then I’ll go back home.” Foggy let out a long sigh in response, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Look, Foggy, I’m fine. I’ve dealt with far worse than this, you know that.”

“You say that every time and it’s not nearly as helpful as you think it is,” Foggy replied as he approached him and pulled at his suit jacket. “Besides, you’re not fine, man, you’re leaking! Did you rip any stitches?”

Matt frowned, reached for his side, and felt the blood soaking through his shirt. “Shit.”

“You should be in bed, Matt.”

“And I will be, as soon as I’m done here.”

Foggy sighed again. “Fine. You’re already here anyway, and you’re too damn stubborn to listen to what I say. Don’t you have a spare shirt here somewhere?”

“I did, but I wore it a while ago.”

“Oh, that makes me feel a lot better about this.”

Matt didn’t have a chance to reply before there was a knock on the office door. A second later it flew open as Foggy stepped from in front of Matt.

“Matt?” Becky rolled in her wheelchair. “Mrs. Vasquez is here.”

“Hey, Matt!” Rosa stood in the doorway, “it's been a while.”

“That it has. Come on in,” Matt smiled, quickly buttoning up his suit jacket. “Uhm, you’ve met Becky. This is my partner, Foggy Nelson. Foggy, this is Rosa Vasquez. We were in the same foster home for a while.”

“Oh, nice meeting you!” Foggy shook her hand. “Wait, same foster home. Does that mean you knew Matt as a kid? Do you know any embarrassing stories?”

“Oh, I know so many.”

“Which you don’t have to hear right now,” Matt quickly intervened. “Don’t you have work to do, Foggy?”

“I do,” Foggy said, finally making a move to leave the room. “But don’t think for a second you’re escaping this, Murdock. I will hear about all the embarrassing shit you did as a kid. You’re just delaying the inevitable.” 

Matt slowly made his way to his chair while Foggy and Becky left, hoping the bleeding could hold off long enough for him to get through this conversation and still have time to get back home. Thankfully his suit jacket was black, at least it was labelled that way. If everything went according to plan, Rosa wouldn't even notice it. 

"Take a seat," he smiled at her. Whatever her reason for reaching out to him, and despite the pain on his side, it was nice to hear from her again. He waited until she sat down and situated herself before speaking again. "What's wrong, Rosa?”

"Well…" she started, not really sure how she wanted to word things. Any joy from seeing Matt left her as she started to explain the situation. "It's… my kids. I think…" she paused, her head tilting slightly upwards as she searched her mind for the best explanation. "I think a social worker is trying to remove them." Her voice wavered a little so she cleared her throat, trying to give herself resolve. "My most recent boy, his name's Peter," she gave a small smile at his name, like she was pointing out her son in a group photo, but it quickly dropped as she continued, "well, he's had it rough. And– and yesterday his caseworker came by because–the night before–police brought him home. They caught him… well, beating the– the ever-living daylights out of some guy who was trying to mug some woman. And– and I just…” She rubbed her face with both hands before pulling them down to her mouth where she paused for a moment to gather her thoughts. Matt could clearly tell Rosa had a whole myriad of conflicting emotions surrounding that whole situation; worry, displeasure, a small hint of pride, but mostly confusion. He couldn't blame her, even if that sounded like his average Thursday night. 

“He's not… in legal trouble for that,” Rosa continued, moving her hands from her mouth. “He saved that woman. But– but his social worker still wants to remove him. And we were his last chance Matt. He– she said she's gonna send him upstate to a facility and– and then said she could take away two of my other boys and I– I just don't know what to do. We haven't– it's not official yet. At least we haven't gotten anything informing us about it. But… I'm a good mom Matt. I try to be. I love my kids, all of them. I don't want to lose any of them and I'm scared she'll try to take them."

Matt shouldn't be surprised. Rosa and her husband were good people; they ran a foster home because they knew how tough the system could be, and were dedicated to giving those kids the best environment possible. If she needed any sort of legal help, of course, it would be about her children. 

"Look, Rosa, I would love to help, but I'm not really a family lawyer. I think you'd be better off with someone who deals with cases like this more regularly. Foggy and I know some people from Columbia, we could give you their numbers." It was a genuine suggestion; family law wasn't really something he worked with, and these cases were better handled by attorneys who knew what they were doing.

Still, it would be a lie to say that a part of him didn't want to help. He knew how rough life in the system could be better than any of his former colleagues. "What happened anyway? With Peter? His caseworker can't just take him away because of an attempted mugging."

"No, there… there was more," she took a deep breath before continuing. "I… think he was molested. By– by a teacher. His name is Steven Westcott and he works at Fawcett Academy." What little composure she had remaining broke after that admission. "And– and I went to the school, Matt. Before I called you I– I went there and told them and they did nothing! " She was fully crying at this point, and gesturing wildly with a burning rage she'd kept stifled for too long. "Nothing! Said they were 'gonna look into it'. Meanwhile my son is hurting and that fucking pervert is around other kids all day! Around my other kids !" She'd lost herself to her emotions, and rightfully so. She’d failed to protect her kids, that was one of her main responsibilities as a foster parent– as a mother. 

Matt listened, any thought of not being able to take the case now completely gone. The situation itself was more than enough to convince him, but hearing the desperation and anger in Rosa's voice, he couldn't bring himself to deny helping her.

"So, the caseworker knows. That's why she's threatening to take him away." That seemed like a more believable reason, but it didn't quite add up either. "That feels like she's trying to take the easy way out though. I mean, the school will obviously want to cover their own asses, especially without any evidence. If she just sends the kid to live upstate, the problem goes away. No headache for her." That was, of course, until that teacher molests another child– and maybe no one would find out this time, much like no one found out about any kids they might have hurt in the past.

God, what a nightmare. 

"What else do you know about the teacher? I could ask our P.I. to do some digging, maybe she can find something out that could help with the case. Or at least convince the school to do something."

Rosa had done a bit of digging herself and was able to tell Matt all the information listed under Steven Westcott on the school’s directory. She also gave him the address of the cafe that Peter and Mr. Westcott would meet at, explaining the tutoring arrangement they had set up. She clearly felt very guilty for agreeing to the weekend tutoring sessions and giving a predator access to her son. But she didn't know. It wasn't her fault. 

Unfortunately, that didn't keep her from spiraling. “He was at the house, you know, when– when the police dropped Peter off. And– and Peter was so… out of it. But I chastised him, Matt. Because Mr. Westcott said one thing- said Peter attacked him, and Peter… he said practically nothing .”

Matt honed in on that. “Attacked him?”

“Yeah, Peter broke his nose. He– he did attack Mr. Westcott, but for good reason. I just– I didn't know that at the time. Hell, I was thankful at first that he decided against pressing charges, only– only to find out-”

“He'd done far worse,” Matt finished for her. He could feel his blood boil with protective rage for a kid he didn't even know. “I'm assuming you haven't filed a police report yet either, have you?” Matt asked, although he felt he already knew the answer. 

"No… Peter doesn't want me to. He- he doesn't want to involve the police. He doesn't want to involve anyone .” Rosa's earlier righteous fervor had died down by now. Instead her body language read as tense yet exhausted. “He doesn't even know I'm talking to a lawyer right now.”

Matt's mouth formed a thin line as he sat with that information for a brief moment.

“I'm taking the case. Both of them." He'd have to do some research into family law, but he could get Mr. Westcott jailed no issue. "Call me the second you hear back from the social worker."

Chapter Text

Peter sat on the roof. He'd snuck out after everyone had fallen asleep the same way as the night before. Tonight, however, he didn't plan to stay put. He wore a pair of old red and blue sweats and thin-soled sneakers. It took a few tries to get it just right, but eventually he tied a red T-shirt around his face, leaving just his eyes exposed. Charlise was right, he couldn't go around playing vigilante. Or more accurately, he couldn't get caught playing vigilante. 

He took a long look at the shimmering city lights. Rosa had told everyone about his dryer repair, to Peter's utter horror. While he hadn't expected it to remain a secret, he hadn't been prepared for her to bring it up during their dumb “all-hands-on-deck” shtick. While it was nice to receive his accolades, he did not enjoy answering questions all dinner. Especially when the truth involved him trespassing at a waste facility. 

Attention was also a tricky thing for him. He craved it, just like anyone might, whether he was consciously aware of that desire or not. On the other hand, he'd learned throughout his life that not all attention is good attention; for him it was usually bad. Whether it was shitty foster parents or school bullies, he had learned that attention often led to trouble. He'd been getting better, that was until Mr. Westcott…

He shook his head to clear his thoughts, he didn't want to think about that right now. He didn't have to go to school tomorrow, Rosa told him as much before lights out. He likely wouldn't have to go to school for a while. He was grateful for that. He hated attending Fawcett. Although, at the same time, he wanted to seem… normal. He wanted to roam the halls and attend his boring classes like his world hadn't been flipped around. But he couldn't. If Rosa was so willing to keep him home, that meant Mr. Westcott was still there. Peter had no idea how he'd react if he saw that man again, so it was better to just avoid it best he could.

Avoid. Avoid. Avoid…

So stop thinking about it!

Peter stood up abruptly, took a deep breath, and–giving himself no time to think–leapt off the roof. His heart hammered away in his chest as he started to fall. He knew he could handle the drop, the house wasn't that tall, but that didn't mean it wasn't still nervewracking. 

He landed smoothly on his feet before tucking and rolling off the excess energy. It was an automatic movement his body did out of fear that he’d break his legs. When he hopped back up to his feet in one smooth motion, he realized the whole fall and tumble had been silent and he was totally unscathed. He looked back up to the roof, it didn't look nearly as high up anymore. 

He wanted to do it again, but higher. He wanted to jump across the tops of skyscrapers. But he needed a failsafe. Something to catch himself if he fell from a great height. He could handle two stories no problem. Fifty or more? He doubted it.

He moved on, letting his thoughts run in the background as he made his way towards the more densely packed Manhattan. More people meant more crime. More crime meant more opportunity for Peter to do something. To help. To be more than a burden. To distract himself from his own life. But it would take a while to get down there. He needed a failsafe and a quicker mode of travel.

Luckily, or rather unluckily, he didn't have to travel all the way to Manhattan for trouble to find him. 

Before he could make it to the East River he heard it. A security alarm rang nearby and Peter’s ears perked up at the sound. He followed the noise to a small bank, where a group of masked men were attempting to force an ATM away from the wall with their hands and crowbars. A cargo van was backed halfway inside the bank, the glass storefront shattered around it, and a chain was attached to the hitch. 

Peter snuck over to the driver’s side, staying low to the ground and out of sight. Thankfully, the getaway driver kept glancing between his phone and the men tying the chain around the ATM, giving Peter ample opportunity to skitter from cover to cover. When he got to the driver's side he took a deep breath and raised his arm, knocking on the window before quickly bringing his arm back down. 

The getaway driver looked to the noise but saw nothing, Peter having pressed himself against the van to avoid detection. So he rolled down the window to get a better look, but the second he leaned his head out the window Peter punched him square in the face. 

The driver was out like a light and slumped over in his seat, thankfully not on the horn. Peter winced at the results of his own strength. He wasn't sure how much force was needed to knock someone out, but he might've used just a bit too much. 

He crawled through the now open driver side window and pushed the unconscious man out of the way with ease. He wrinkled his nose in disgust, the van smelled of stale cigarettes and body order. 

Before Peter could think of his next move he heard two loud thuds against the body of the van. Then nothing. Then two more thuds , and again nothing happened as Peter tried to figure out what to do. He heard the sound of sliding plastic and turned to look at the little window into the back.

“What's the hold–” He looked at the masked man and the masked man looked back at him, also wearing a mask. “Who the fuck are you?!” 

Peter didn’t really know how to respond, so he said the first thing that came to his mind. “Your mom.” 

Wrong answer. The bank robber growled and raised a gun to the window. Peter's sixth sense guided him as he removed the keys from the ignition and ducked before the trigger was pulled. There was a loud BANG–BANG and the cabin filled with the acrid smell of gun smoke. 

Peter opened the door and slipped out, staying low to avoid gunfire. Once outside the van, he threw the keys onto the bank's roof. He watched to make sure they landed, but felt a tingle at the base of his skull that brought his attention back to ground level. 

His body moved before he even registered the other bank robber standing outside the van or the shot he fired at Peter. The bullet whizzed past his side, nicking his hoodie and leaving a small friction burn in the fabric. The man was quick to fire at Peter again so he dropped and rolled under the van. It wouldn't provide him protection for long and so crawled to the rear where he saw the first robber hop out of the back of the van. He acted quickly, grabbing his ankle and yanking him down. There was a loud crack as the first robber did nothing to catch himself and his head hit the concrete floor. Peter winced but had no time to feel sympathy for the guy. He then grabbed the chain hanging from the van's hitch, the other end was now secured around the ATM. There was enough slack for Peter to whip the excess at the other robber, who was leaning down to shoot under the van. The chain hit the second robber's feet and hands, causing him to drop his gun and fall over with a shout. 

Moving quickly Peter tore the hitch from the van effortlessly, figuring it quicker than removing the chain. He wrapped the chain around the first guy's foot, then pulled himself out from under the van. He made sure to kick both guns out of reach before tying both men to the ATM with the chain. It wouldn't hold long, but Peter could hear approaching police sirens and there was no way they could escape before authorities would arrive. Peter, on the other hand, had to leave. 

"Um," Peter felt like he was supposed to say something profound, that's what a lot of superheroes did right? "Don't rob stuff." That would have to do. 

He hopped onto the van and crawled out of the bank on top of it. He could see the red and blue flashing lights reflecting off other buildings in the distance. He jumped up several feet and stuck to the outside of the building, crawling the rest of the way to the roof where he could disappear into the night. He had a lot to think about.

Before returning home that night, Peter made another stop at the household waste facility to fill his pockets with scraps of technology. Thoughts buzzed around in his head and he formulated a plan. His escapade into vigilantism exposed some of his weak points. He could only travel marginally quicker than the average New Yorker. He had no means of disarming someone from a distance. And he couldn't neutralize an enemy without knocking them unconscious, something he wasn't all too comfortable with yet. 

He needed something akin to the chain at the bank, maybe with a grappling hook? No, he couldn't risk disemboweling someone with the sharp end of the hooks. He also wasn't sure how he'd disarm someone that way. Well, he knew how to disarm someone with a chain, he'd done it at the bank. Given his strength and the length of chain he’d need, he could obliterate the bones in someone’s hand with the right aim. It was also so cumbersome, even with this strength. So scratch the chain. A rope, perhaps? No, it was too weak. Someone could cut through it with something as simple as a pocket knife and escape. While it was easier to manage than a chain, it would still be unwieldy…

His mind was running, trying to figure out this conundrum, when he saw it. A large web sat between two refrigerators, a large spider dangling on a single thread below. With his enhanced eyesight he watched as a fly buzzed into the web and alerted the spider to his presence. Lightning quick, the spider dashed up the thread and across the web, wasting no time as it wrapped the fly up tightly in its sticky webbing. That was it, and he felt stupid for how long it took him to think of it. His powers came from a spider bite, it only made sense to use webs. 

It would be a daunting task. He could create some kind of wearable wrist spinneret with a trigger on his palm that would fire strands of spider silk. His brain spun with possibilities and basic blueprints. He could do that easy-peasy. The hard part would be actually creating the webs. Maybe he could compress strands of webbing into canisters– no. Spiders didn't just have preformed strings in their abdomens, it started out as a liquid. He'd make a silk solution. He had a few formulas in mind he wanted to try out, but he'd need to research the chemical structure of spider silk and adjust it to make it stronger. He also didn't have access to the chemicals he needed, whatever they might be. Midtown had them, it was better stocked than some universities, but he wasn't a student there anymore. He doubted they'd let him walk in and just take what he needed.

But, he could sneak in after hours. He'd done it before without powers, he could definitely do it now. He checked the time and frowned. He only had a few hours left before his foster siblings would wake up for school and he still had to get all the way back home; on foot. He'd worry about the chemicals later.

Chapter Text

The Vasquez kids, sans Peter, sat on the school bus the next morning. Billy and Freddy sat together on one bench with Pedro and Eugene sat on the one in front of them. Mary and Darla sat behind them. 

Billy was half asleep when Eugene suddenly turned around in his seat. Perched on his knees, he shoved his phone into Billy’s face, “check this out!” 

Groggily, Billy watched the video playing on Eugene's phone– Freddy scooted closer to do the same. 

The video was obviously security footage. It showed a van reverse into and through the glass of a small bank. Some masked men hopped out the back with a chain they attached to the van’s hitch. They immediately began pulling an ATM from against a wall and wrapping the chain around it. 

Once the chain was situated they returned to the van and then things were still. There was no sound accompanying the video so it didn't appear like anything was happening. Billy was about to ask why Eugene was showing him this when one of the men hopped back out of the van. He began shooting at something outside the building. The angle of the camera didn't show who or what he was shooting at, but things seemed calm for a moment when he stopped. 

Another man hopped out of the van and immediately hit the ground as if pulled by an invisible force. Then the earlier shooter got whipped by the chain when he bent down. With both men on the ground something–no someone –crawled out from under the van.

This new person also wore a mask, but they were obviously unrelated to the attempted robbery. They gathered up the robbers and used the chain to tie them around the ATM. Then he quickly scurried up the van and out of frame. 

The scene cut out and a man sitting in a studio, looking directly into the camera, took its place. “So, as you see–” Eugene exited the video and moved his phone back to his side. 

“A new vigilante,” Freddy said.

Eugene nodded, “what d’you think his powers are?” 

They all looked at Freddy, as the resident superhero expert. Despite that, he seemed surprised they wanted an answer from him. "What? I don't know." They continued to look at him expectantly. "Okay, okay, um… definitely super strength. But that's all I can really tell from it. It's not like we see him for most of the video."

"How do you know it's a 'him' ?" Darla jumped in, leaning forward in her chair to be heard. 

"Well, duh , of course it is." Freddy argued back, confidently. "I didn't see any boobs in the video."

Mary reached over and smacked Freddy on the top of his head. It wasn't a hard hit, just a gentle correction. But it worked. 

"Do you think he has anything to do with the green guy?" Billy asked, moving the topic from the new vigilante's gender. 

The group was quiet for a moment–it wasn't silent though, it was a crowded school bus, silence couldn't exist there–as they thought about Billy's words. Mary was the first to speak up. 

"What do you mean?"

"Like…" Billy started, looking at the plain, white, school bus ceiling as he searched for a better explanation, "I don't know, I just feel weird about it. Green Goblin shows up, then like a month–less than a month–later this guy shows up." Billy shrugged and looked at his foster siblings' faces. It was clear that they weren't following along. "Like he's– er, they're doing good. So no complaints. But… it just feels weird." 

Freddy placed a hand on Billy's shoulder, "I think you just have Green Goblin on the mind, dude." They made eye contact for a moment. 

"Yeah, I think I do." Billy conceded.

The group fell into silence after that, returning to their own devices. Albeit Billy was far more awake and Mary felt a tad bit suspicious of the pair in front of her. But they were almost to school and she didn't feel like starting an argument over what they might or might not be hiding. 

When they pulled up to Fawcett Academy all the kids filed off the bus and started towards the school. All but two. Billy and Freddy both slipped away during the mass migration inside the building. 

They didn't even make it two blocks before Freddy got a text from Mary. 

Mary:

 ‘where did you 2 go??’

Freddy:  

‘gotta get info on green guy’

Freddy pocketed his phone as the duo turned into an alleyway to Shazam themselves. With a flash of lightning and a booming yell the two transformed into their alter egos. Without hesitation they flew off towards Manhattan. 

Claire had just sat on the couch, exhausted after returning home from yet another overnight shift, when she heard a knock on her door. Annoyed by the interruption, she begrudgingly stood back up and looked through the peephole. 

On the other side of her door were the same two dumbasses that had brought Matt to her Sunday. She swore to God, if Matt was already hurt again, she'd kill him. 

She opened the door, her expression clearly showcasing her irritation. She looked around, but couldn't find Matt. She looked back at the pair. 

“What the hell are you doing here?” Her tone was sharp and accusatory. 

They both looked sheepish, clearly cowed by someone they could easily crush. “Um, can we come in?”

She wanted to say no so bad. She wanted to slam the door and refuse them entry. But, with a defeated sigh, she stepped away from the door and ushered them inside. “Fine, but make it quick.”

She shut the door behind them and made her way back to the living room; only to find both behemoth-sized men had crammed themselves onto her couch. She sighed again and remained standing while the pair twiddled their thumbs and looked at her like lost puppies.

A few beats of silence passed while Claire waited for them to say something, anything . Eventually she had enough and threw her arms out, exasperated. “Why are you here?!”

“Well,” the black-haired one spoke up, “you obviously know Daredevil…”

Claire crossed her arms, “obviously.”

“And, uh, we need to find him.” 

Matt might've brought them to her when he needed help, but that didn't mean she trusted them. “Why?” 

“He was tailing that goblin guy. The one who stabbed him.” It was the brunet speaking now. “And we were thinking we could, uh,” he glanced at his partner before looking back at Claire, “like team up or something.”

Claire stared at them, dumbfounded. “No. He's hurt. I'm not gonna let you drag him out to fight the same guy that stabbed him.”

“Okay, okay.” It was the black-haired one again. “No team up, but can we just talk to him? Like, he might have some information we don't. That could help us.”

Claire pinched the bridge of her nose. “You know he has a secret identity right? You might run around without a mask, but he tries to keep all that under wraps. Do you get that?” She gestured at the two disapprovingly. “I can't tell you anything. If he didn't tell you himself, then he doesn't want you to know. Simple as that.”

“C’mon!” It was the brunet again. “We saved his life!”

“So?! Aren't you heroes? Isn't that your job?” She felt anger spark up inside her. "That doesn't give you the right to demand something in return."

"Can't we just, like, meet him somewhere?" The black-haired one–he seemed far more rational than his friend–clasped his hands together and gave her puppy dog eyes. "Pretty please? He can come all suited up and we can promise you we won't take him to fight. We just– we just don't have any other information on Green Goblin." He elbowed the brunet who quickly assumed the same pleading position. 

Claire's resolve didn't falter. She just glared at them. That was until the pair started rattling off increasingly immature "pleases". She held on for a bit longer, her glare turning into a look of disgust and then horror when they got on their knees to beg. 

"Okay! Enough!" Claire shouted, in shock by the two grown men begging at her feet. What the fuck. "Have some fucking self respect." She turned away and ran a hand down her face. She was over this. She just wanted to rest after a long night. She hadn't even gotten to change out of her scrubs yet! She was going to kill Matt for this. "Fine," she turned back around to face the pair, her voice exhausted, "I'll… tell him to meet you." 

The boys cheered, but Claire wasn't done. She held a finger up to get them to quiet down. "Midnight, tonight, on top of the American Red Cross in Hell's Kitchen." They started interrupting her again and she had to snap at them. "Hey. I'll tell him, but that doesn't mean he'll actually show up. And whether or not he does, that's not my problem. I don't want you coming back here. Understood?"

They nodded enthusiastically. "Yes ma'am. Thank you! We'll get out of your hair now." They started to make their way to the door when Claire stopped them. 

"No, out the window. I don't want anymore superheroes going through my fucking doors. Do you understand how stupid it is that you've been doing that? Showing up to my door looking like this. So, no, leave through the window."

The pair, looking like kicked puppies with their tails tucked between their legs, did just that. They walked over to the window and climbed through onto the fire escape in the most graceless way Claire had ever seen. Then, within a blink of an eye, the pair took off into the sky, leaving the old metal fire escape rattling from the force. 

Claire just stood there, enjoying the peace and quiet for a few moments. She sighed heavily and fetched her phone out of her pocket. She quickly pulled up Matt's number and called him. It rang a few times before Matt answered.

"Hello?" His voice was thick and gravelly.

"Did I wake you up?"

"No," he cleared his throat, "I'm making coffee."

"You're not going into work, are you?"

Matt let out a short laugh. "No, not today," he paused momentarily, "but I had to go in yesterday–"

"Matt!"

"It was just for a bit! It was for an old friend." His tone was soft. He was trying to calm her. "Besides, it was mostly fine."

"Mostly?" 

He cleared his throat again. "I… might've popped a few stitches…"

Claire moved the phone from her ear and looked up, using all her strength to keep from ripping Matt a new one. "Jesus Christ," she muttered to herself. Why were they all idiots? 

Now that she's thinking about it… it was pretty dumb to get dressed up in a silly costume and fight crime like they do. Stupidity must be an innate quality of superheroes and vigilantes.

"Claire? I'm fine though. I fixed it."

She put the phone back to her ear. "Good. Because I wasn't going to help you." Matt barked out a laugh, but Claire continued. "I might actually hurt you the next time I see you."

"Huh? Seriously, it wasn't that bad–"

"No. It's not that," she sighed, "I had some visitors today." Claire could hear Matt give her his full attention after that. "Your friends came looking for you."

"Who?"

"Those newer heroes. The ones that you gave my address to," there was obvious annoyance in her voice. "They wanted to talk to you about the, uh, Green Goblin guy. The one who stabbed you."

"Oh?"

"Yeah, they're dumb but persistent. They're gonna be on the American Red Cross building tonight at midnight. I said I'd tell you to meet them there if you wanna talk. Not fight. Not go after the guy. Just talk. And if you pop any stitches on your way up? That's your own problem."

"Understood." Matt paused briefly, "and that's all you said?"

Claire sighed, "they didn't ask if I knew anything."

She could almost hear Matt's sly, little smirk through the phone as he spoke. "Good.” There was a momentary pause before Matt cleared his throat and spoke again, "heard anything back yet?"

"Nope," she said, popping the 'p'. Despite the ambiguity of Matt's question, she knew exactly what he was asking about. "I don't know what kind of results you're expecting from this. They're clinical biochemists, Matt. They test bodily fluids, not whatever that toxic sludge was. Plus, I could get in serious trouble for this."

It was Matt's turn to sigh now, "I'm not sure… but that's one of the only leads I have and it's the only thing I can do with it. I'm sorry."

She wanted to be mad, but it was so hard when Matt sounded sad. "I'll call you when I hear back, but after that don't involve me anymore. I don't want to be a part of this." She hung up the call, forgoing a good-bye. She did what she said she would. She didn't have to be polite about it.

Chapter Text

Peter would be removed from the Vasquez house in ten days. At least that's what his social worker wanted according to the letter they received. It was a big stressor and dinner was considerably quieter than normal that night. Rosa made two phone calls afterwards; the first was to OCFS to set up a meeting to argue her case. The second was, as far as Peter could tell, to a law firm. 

Before bed, both Victor and Rosa pulled Peter aside to ask him a very important question:

"Do you want to live with us?"

He did. He really liked it here. He figured he might actually love it. He didn't doubt that one bit. Rather, any hesitation came from a nagging itch in his brain reminding him that they were too good. That his Parker Luck would ruin everything. That he'd lose them just like he'd lost everyone else dear to him. He'd still lose them if he was taken upstate, but at least they'd still be alive. He felt selfish for wanting to hold onto them when his mere presence risked their safety, but he had powers now. He could protect them. He could keep them all safe. No, he would keep them all safe, even if it killed him. He wouldn't let anyone else die because of him and his stupid curse. 

"Yeah, I do." His answer came quickly despite his inner turmoil. He wanted them. No, he needed them. From gaining powers to dealing with Mr. Westcott to dredging up old memories of his aunt and uncle, he needed stability in his life and they could be his rock. 

"Fist bump?" Rosa asked, holding out her fist. 

Peter looked at her gesture, but didn't return it. He was stuck for a moment on just how accommodating they were. How they'd welcomed him into their already crowded home and did everything they could to help him. They respected his boundaries and made accommodations for him, more than any adult still living had ever done.

"Can I have a hug instead?" He asked, looking at both adults. Both parents. 

Victor and Rosa were beyond willing to swoop him up in the most comforting hug he'd felt in such a long time. It was full of love and warmth and damn, he'd really missed this. 

Billy and Freddy were terrible actors. They were both pretending to be asleep. Peter was also pretending, but that was beside the point. He had finished a prototype for his web solution and webshooters earlier today and he wanted to try it out, but he had to wait for them to actually fall asleep before he could sneak out. 

Oddly enough though, his foster brothers both got up slowly. They were trying to remain quiet, but he could hear it all clear as day thanks to his enhanced hearing. Peter remained still and silent so as to not draw any attention to himself. He could actually fake being asleep. The pajama clad pair cautiously worked their way out the bedroom door and towards the staircase before Peter opened his eyes. He was going to follow them. 

By the time he was masked up and on the roof, Billy and Freddy were outside and walking. He watched as they ducked into a nearby alleyway and out of his line of sight. He hopped onto the roof closest to them and waited for them to leave. Then a lot of things happened in rapid succession. 

Peter was fiddling with his webshooters, adjusting them on his wrists. They were pretty bulky and definitely needed some work, but he was excited to try them out. Suddenly, he heard Billy and Freddy shout "SHAZAM" from the alley in booming voices that sounded far more powerful than he'd ever heard them before. Within a split second the hairs on Peter's body stood on end, the air tasted tangy and metallic, and everything felt electrified. Then two huge lightning bolts shot down at the same time from the perfectly clear sky into the alley, making Peter fall back with a squeak. 

Then it was gone. Just like that. Peter felt immediate horror. Did his brothers just get struck by lightning? Did his Parker Luck work that fast?! Before he could approach the ledge to check on them, two full-grown men flew out of the alley way in the direction of Manhattan. No, not just any two men. Those were Red Cyclone and Captain Every-Power. Or whatever they were called now. Peter ran to the ledge to check and…

Billy and Freddy were gone. Not gone as in dead, gone as in... simply not there anymore. There was no trace on them. No smoldering remains or putrid stench of burning flesh. Just two tendrils of gently dissipating smoke. 

Okay. What the fuck was going on? He looked at the heroes' shrinking forms as they flew off. Logically he could rationalize that those two were Billy and Freddy, except there was no logic! His foster brothers were superheroes that turned into grown men. Were the rest heroes too ? Oh god!

He was wasting too much time thinking. He had wanted to test out his webshooters, well he got his test. He followed the pair, first by running and hopping from rooftop to rooftop. He needed height to build speed and momentum for his swings. As they approached the East River and the buildings got taller, Peter got his chance. He took a leap of faith, aiming to land not on a rooftop but the middle of the street. 

He shot out a web and prayed that it would connect. He could probably survive a fall from this height, but he doubted it would be pleasant. As he barreled towards the busy street below, he felt it. Tension! He checked the now taut line and saw it had anchored on the corner of a building. Calculations ran through his head a mile a minute as he followed through the swing. It was exhilarating! But he couldn't revel in the feeling, he had to follow his brothers and the distance between them was growing steadily. 

As he reached the apex of his swing, he could feel his forward momentum slowing. So he let go and… Whoa. This really was just stylized falling, wasn't it? He flailed awkwardly for half a second as he started to descend, but he shot another web and the whole process started again. Yeah, this was cool as shit. 

A combination of Peter's physics aptitude and sixth sense helped him gain some ground as he swung across the Queensboro bridge and into Midtown. He had to cut around Central Park, but he kept all his senses tuned to those two when he lost sight of them. It almost felt like his extra sense was guiding him. 

He felt a little disappointed that he had to stop when he made it into Hell's Kitchen and saw the pair standing on a rooftop. They were talking to someone and it took Peter a moment to realize who it was. Daredevil. While he wanted to keep swinging, he had to figure out what was going on. So he landed on a different rooftop several buildings away and crouched behind an HVAC unit out of sight but within his advance hearing range. 

So what if Freddy had already met and even saved Daredevil? The fact they were having a secret rendezvous to discuss superhero matters was still pretty fucking cool. Of course he loved superheroes like Superman, Batman, and Wonder Woman, but they were in the big leagues. They almost felt out of reach. Even after having lunch with Superman he continued to maintain an almost ethereal status in Freddy's mind. 

Daredevil though? He was very much a ground level hero. A vigilante who sought out justice. Freddy wasn't even sure what powers he had, if any. He could be just a regular guy adept at fighting. And there was something about that, about being the little guy going up against super-powered villains, that was admirable. 

As they approached the American Red Cross building, Freddy felt a wave of relief when he saw Daredevil perched on the edge like a gargoyle. He was a little worried the man wouldn't show and Freddy and Billy would be up shit's creek without a paddle when it came to Green Goblin. They had no idea where to even start in trying to stop that guy. 

The pair landed behind Daredevil who didn't move an inch in response. Billy and Freddy looked at each other then back at the brooding Devil of Hell's Kitchen as they waited for an acknowledgment of their presence that never came. What now?

Freddy spoke first, excitement bubbling in his chest. "It's good to meet you Mr. Daredevil, sir. Like, er– properly meet you. Not– not in a fight or like… when you're bleeding out…" his voice trailed off awkwardly as Daredevil only turned his head slightly, still perched on the ledge, and gave an agitated hum. 

Billy jumped in. "So, you got Claire's message. Obviously. Because you're… well you're here," he gave an awkward laugh which Daredevil did not return. Billy cleared his throat and continued. "We were hoping you could help us with Green Goblin. We don't really have… well, any ideas. We don't know where he's going, what he's doing, or– or when he's gonna strike next!" Daredevil still hadn't turned to face them. It felt like Billy was talking to a brick wall. "We have nothing. No information. No leads. We're lost."

Freddy wasn't sure if Daredevil was thinking over his response or just ignoring them, but it irked him all the same. They were on the same team and Freddy was a fan of his for crying out loud! So he spoke up. "You know something. You have to," his tone was accusatory and that got Daredevil's attention. The brooding man actually moved his shoulders a bit towards them. "I mean, you were already at the warehouse when we got there. You said you saw him coming in and out all day, transporting those– those little vials of stuff. We want to help, but we need help… to help… ya'know?"

Daredevil sighed and finally stepped down from the ledge, facing the pair. He was favoring his left side, he must still be healing from their fight with Green Goblin. Freddy was able to cross out advanced healing from the list of Daredevil's potential superpowers. Maybe he really was just a regular guy who could kick ass. 

“It's connected to Oscorp,” Daredevil said as his shoulders dropped a minuscule amount, "that's all I have.”

Billy and Feddy glanced at each other before Billy spoke up. “Well, yeah . He was kinda… tryna blow it up when I stopped him.” Freddy let out a high pitched and extended “eeeh”, clearly implying that Billy's rendition wasn't very accurate. Billy punched his shoulder to shut him up, then continued talking. “He obviously has it out for Oscorp.”

“The vials are from Oscorp.” Daredevil replied. 

That failed to fully compute for Billy and Freddy. After a few moments of contemplative silence, Freddy asked, "how do you know that?”

“That's all I have,” Daredevil's tone carried an air of finality. “You got what you wanted, so go.”

Billy and Freddy, on the contrary, did not go. They remained where they stood, awkwardly shuffling their feet and glancing around. It felt so… lackluster. So anticlimactic. Was that really all they'd gained from coming all the way to Hell's Kitchen in the middle of the night?

Freddy decided to push his luck. 

"Ya'know," Freddy said, "we could work together again. Once you're all healed up," Daredevil seemed repulsed by the suggestion, but Freddy continued without pause. "We could keep you safe! I mean we got," he let out an awkward laugh and gestured to Billy and himself, "we got loads of powers. And Claire was very serious about you healing and, like, not getting hurt again. She was very cool." Daredevil's jaw clenched at the mention of Claire and yet Freddy rambled on, ignorant to the rising tension. "She really cares about you. It's sweet! She absolutely hated us," Freddy laughed again, somehow even more awkward than before. 

Billy lightly elbowed him in the side and harshly whispered, "dude, shut the fuck up."

Freddy took the hint and did, in fact, shut the fuck up. Though, not without letting his chuckle die out into a weird cough first. Billy stood next to him, uncomfortable as all hell. Unlike Freddy, he had noticed Daredevil's increasingly pissed off body language. He wasn't worried that Daredevil would hurt them physically, he couldn't even if he tried. But emotionally? That was a whole different ballpark. 

Daredevil let out a dry chuckle at his words. "You think you can keep me safe? I've been doing this for way longer than you. I've fought way worse guys than Green Goblin. I didn't need your help then, and I don't need it now. So stay away from me, stay away from Hell's Kitchen, and stay the fuck away from Claire. She has nothing to do with any of this, and you put her in danger by showing up at her doorstep. Any decent superhero would think about that, but you clearly still have a long way to go before you can call yourself anything close to that."

Freddy was positive that if he had been in his normal body, he would have cried. Shazamed or not, The Devil of Hell's Kitchen was terrifying and the epithet was very fitting. So he panicked. He had a problem with shutting up and really wanted the pressure off of him. So he pointed at Billy and blurted out, "he saw your face! I looked away!" Was it a dick move? Yeah, definitely. He'd apologize later. Maybe.

Billy's jaw dropped at Freddy's admission. Daredevil turned to him, exuding pure annoyance and loathing for the pair. Billy, however, kept his eyes on Freddy. He was absolutely gobsmacked that Freddy would throw him under the bus like that. 

"What the fuck dude?!" Billy shouted, his voice several octaves higher than usual, "why would you say that?!"

"I don't know!" Freddy shouted out quickly.

Billy turned his attention to Daredevil and started to back away, his hand held out with palms together in a pleading gesture. "Like, only a little and I don't even like, really remember ." Now it was Billy's turn to laugh awkwardly. It did nothing to defuse the situation. "I couldn't like– you're just sorta some guy, so I wouldn't be able to… uh…" Billy gestured near his eyes and let his voice trail off. He cleared his throat and Freddy also backed away. "Yeah, we're just gonna…" He pointed to the sky for a second before taking off into the sky. Freddy took off a millisecond later.

Chapter Text

Matt sighed deeply after the two superpowered idiots left. He regretted coming to the meeting, but he had to tell them to leave Claire alone. She was already handling the vial Matt had tucked away during the fight. She didn't need two grown superheroes harassing her for information. He gently laid a hand on his side, wincing a bit in pain. He was starting to heal, but any stress he caused it would increase the recovery time. 

He still had something to do before he went home though. A teenager had been watching them from behind an HVAC unit. He turned towards the aforementioned teenager and said in a stern voice, "come out."

Matt heard the kid's heart rate spike when he addressed him. But he didn't respond immediately. The kid moved hesitantly as he peeked over the HVAC unit and spoke, "how'd you know?" He gestured to his hiding spot, clearly confused by being found out.  

"You're not as subtle as you think." Not that anyone was, for his ears, but the kid didn't need to know about that. 

He was clearly new at this, maybe even more so than the two who had just left. Matt had heard when the kid landed precariously on that rooftop a few minutes earlier, and it had been hard to ignore his heartbeat, as loud and distinct as it was the entire time Matt talked with the two other heroes. And now that he'd actually heard the kid speak, he couldn't help but wonder just how young he was. 

"You're not in trouble, if that's what you're worried about." Maybe with his parents for being out way past his curfew, but Matt had nothing to do with that. "What are you doing here?"

The kid glanced at the pair flying away before returning his gaze to Matt. He perched on top of the HVAC unit in a way that didn't seem very comfortable, even for Matt who often perched himself. 

"I'm a new hero," the kid said, clearing his throat and trying to speak an octave lower. He also wasn't answering the question. Rather he began fiddling with metal contraptions on his wrists. He seemed nervous, constantly looking between the disappearing pair, his wrists, and Matt. 

"Yeah, I figured that much. But that's not what I asked. Do you know those two?" Likely, considering how he kept glancing up at them as they flew away. His body tensed in response and he focused on Matt. "You followed them here, right? I'm assuming you had a reason. They were asking for my help, but I'm still undecided on that. Might be good to get a second opinion."

He didn't have any more reason to trust this kid than he did the two idiots who just left, but at the very least, he wasn't lying when he said he was a new hero , so it was a safe enough bet that the two of them had similar interests in mind. It couldn't hurt to ask.

The kid relaxed a bit more, sliding off the HVAC unit and stepping to the ledge– his focus returning to the metal on his wrists. "I do know them," he said, then muttered to himself, "at least I thought I did." A faint 'click' came from his wrists and then his focus returned to Matt once more. "And they're gonna need all the help they can get. They're kinda dumb sometimes."

And with that he jumped off the roof.

Peter knew there was no way he would make it back to Queens before his foster brothers, but he still swung as fast as he could. He swung between buildings, feeling the wind whip around him. He was starting to feel very comfortable using his webs to travel, despite it being his first night with them. At the same time he thought of a myriad of improvements he could make to both the technology and web fluid formula. He had spent the entire day fully absorbed in the creation process, so much so that he had ignored every bodily function until it was urgent. Yet they still weren't perfect; changing the web fluid canisters was a difficult process and the webshooters themselves weren't very secure on his wrists. He hadn't planned to travel across the boroughs tonight, but when did anything ever go as planned for him?

He swung across the Queensboro bridge and continued home. About halfway there he saw two large lightning strikes land a few blocks from the house. Definitely Billy and Freddy. He picked up the pace a bit, launching himself from rooftops and using his webs to pull him to the next one. 

Billy and Freddy entered the Vazquez house a bit before Peter landed on the roof. He pulled off his mask and looked back at the dazzling city lights. He wanted to go back. He wanted to swing throughout the night, helping wherever he could. But he had to deal with Billy, Freddy, and the secrets they had been keeping from each other. 

Peter was crawling through the window, mask in hand, when the bedroom door slowly creaked open. He probably could've hurried into bed and under the covers if he wanted to. But he didn't. He wanted to confront this. He continued to climb in calmly as Billy and Freddy slipped inside the room and closed the door behind them. 

The three stood staring at each other. Peter crossed his arms while the other two pieced together the half-finished puzzle in front of them. 

"Holy shit," Billy whispered, "you're the guy from the bank."

"I fucking knew it!" Freddy exclaimed, barely below normal volume. He was shushed immediately. He continued in a whisper, "you have powers."

"So do you two," Peter whispered back. 

Billy and Freddy glanced at each other before Freddy tried to play it off. "What," he said, dragging out the vowel and looking to Billy for help. Billy just shook his head. 

"I saw you," Peter said, wanting to get to the point. "With Daredevil. And I know it was you, because I watched you… change ." He gestured at them, referencing their childish appearance. Change felt too casual a word to describe their whole body transformation. "You're Red Cyclone and Captain Every-Power."

"Well, we're workshopping the names…" Freddy said, but went ignored. Their superhero aliases were irrelevant at the moment. 

"Listen, we were gonna tell you eventually." Billy pleaded. He took a step towards Peter, his arms open wide and palms up. 

Peter immediately took a step back. "Are you actually teenagers? Or are you grown men, pretending to be teens for some sick fantasy?"

"What? No." Both Billy and Freddy said. Freddy went on to add, "and go to school for no reason? Absolutely not." 

At the same time, Billy provided a better explanation. "We're teens. The adult body and the powers came from this… well, from this wizard. I was chosen to be a champion. And then the wizard asked me to grab his staff and say his name. And I did. And now I– we can change into superheroes."

Peter pulled a face of sheer confusion and slight disgust. Was 'staff' a euphemism? "Staff as in…?"

"Staff! As in a stick, a big wooden stick," Billy quickly clarified. 

Peter sat down at the edge of his bed. His mind reeling at the mention of a wizard of all things. He felt like he was going insane. "Same for you?" Peter asked, pointing at Freddy. 

"Kinda," Freddy said. "I think the wizard died," Freddy looked at Billy to check his information, but Billy just shrugged. He also thought the wizard died, but it was a wizard so normal rules of nature didn't really apply. "But Billy was fighting a bad guy and needed help, so he got the staff and did the whole shebang with us."

"Us…" Peter rolled the word around in his head. He had considered it ever since he saw Billy and Freddy transform. There were six heroes in the style of Red Cyclone. He had six foster siblings. "The rest are like you too?" He asked, but he already knew the answer. 

Billy and Freddy nodded. Peter ran a hand down his face. His worldview had been shattered so many times as of late, it was practically dust. There was no picking up the pieces and trying to regain what little normalcy he had before.  

"What about you?" Freddy asked, the gentlest Peter had ever seen him. "How'd you get your powers?" He moved over to sit next to Peter on the bed. Billy did the same, sitting on the other side of Peter. 

"Spider bite." He said with a shrug. He could tell the answer wasn't enough by the looks on Billy and Freddy's faces. "During the field trip to Oscorp. I ended up in a… spider room when everything went into lockdown. I don't know what they were doing with those spiders… but it did something to me."

"So… what can you do?" Freddy asked, giving Peter a playful shove to lighten the mood. He also wanted to know for himself. It was already validating to know he was right about Peter having powers, but it would be even more validating if he guessed any of the powers correctly. 

Peter thought about it for a moment "well, I'm generally kinda… enhanced? I guess. Like, if you took a spider and made it human-sized." He started counting off on his fingers, "I'm stronger, faster, more flexible, my senses are crazy . I can't fly or anything like you guys," he shrugged, "but I'm sticky."

"...sticky?" Billy said, they both scooted away from Peter just a bit. 

Peter smirked at that and stood up. He glanced at the ceiling to make sure there wasn't a light fixture above him before jumping up. He stuck his hand to the ceiling and pulled himself the rest of the way up with eas. 

Both Billy and Freddy watched Peter stick himself to the ceiling, moderately impressed. "Sticky makes sense," Billy said. 

"Don't think I ever would've guessed sticky ," Freddy said, more to himself than anyone else. What an odd power to have, but he figured it made sense at least. He could climb anything like a spider. At that moment he realized something else Peter had mentioned. "You said you saw us with Daredevil," Peter nodded, still situated on the ceiling, "you also said you can't fly. But we flew to Hell's Kitchen. How did you get there?"

"With this," Peter said and stuck a web to the ceiling. He hung upside down and slowly lowered himself until he was eye level with Billy and Freddy. He showed them the web shooter on his wrist that wasn't being used to suspend him from the ceiling. "Pretty cool, huh? They're not perfect, but the mechanism needs more work than the fluid. It was hard to figure out the right formula to keep the tensile strength without losing elasticity. I mean it's a biopolymer modeled after spider silk, so it's gonna be both strong and stretchy. It's mostly just polypeptides forming into proteins, which is easy. The hard part was getting it to fire at the correct velocity and thickness while forming secondary and tertiary structures so it wasn't just goop and would turn into actual webbing."

That felt like the most Peter had spoken since he got here. And frankly Billy and Freddy were beyond confused. It was cool and they were happy to see their foster brother opening up, but they genuinely had no idea what he was talking about. 

"I'm gonna level with you, we don't know what any of that means." Freddy spoke for both of them. 

Billy didn't argue, he was just as lost. However, he did add, "it is cool though. And you just like, made it?" Peter nodded. "That's sick, dude."

Peter released the web, rotated midair like a cat, and landed on his feet. "Thanks," he said quietly, unsure of how to handle the praise. 

Thankfully, Freddy stepped in to save Peter from his own awkwardness. "Do you have a superhero name yet? Because if not I have a few ideas." 

Billy rolled his eyes and stood up, walking over to his bunk. "I'm going to bed."

Peter watched him go, but Freddy continued on unbothered. He used his fingers to list them off, "there's The Arachnid– or like, Arachni-Kid, Web Weaver, Black Widow's already taken so that's a no-go, but you could do, like, Daddy Long Legs–"

“Absolutely not,” Peter said at the same time Billy, from his bed, went, “ewww.”

"Well, you don't have to make it weird . There's also, uh, Spider Monkey–”

"Are they all spider based?" Peter interrupted before Freddy could gain any speed.

"Duh, you're like a spidery man. I mean, you even played into it and made webs."

"Okay, so then I'll go with that."

"What? Which one?"

"Spider-Man."

“... I think we could still workshop it a little…”

Chapter Text

Victor was staying home today. That wasn't unusual. Peter noticed that Victor and Rosa tried to align their work schedules so that someone could always be home in case one of their kids needed them. At the same time, with nine people under one roof, grocery store runs were a near daily occurrence alongside a plethora of other errands to run. So he usually got the house to himself for a few hours. That gave him time to tinker with his web-shooters and the formula uninterrupted.

Today, though, was different. Victor didn't go anywhere. He stayed in the house, cleaning up to make the main floor less of a disaster zone. Peter could hear him from his room. He still decided to work on his web-shooters, but sat on the floor near his bed so he could push it all underneath if he heard Victor approaching. It didn't come to that though.

A little before noon, he heard Victor call his name from the bottom of the stairs. He hid his web-shooters and all the pieces he was working on before making his way downstairs. He was wearing a pair of sweatpants and an oversized T-shirt, having zero expectations of going anywhere until it was dark and he could go be Spider-Man. 

He found Victor in the kitchen, setting a pot of macaroni and cheese on a pot holder and turning off the burner. He then proceeded to pull a pan out of the oven, using a rag as an oven mitt. The pan held roasted broccoli florets drizzled with oil and seasoning. Victor set the pan down next to the pot, threw the rag over his shoulder, and looked at Peter. “Hungry?”

Peter nodded. While he had been listening for Victor while he worked on his web-shooters, his focus had been on improving them. Not on his own bodily needs. He was very hungry, but had only realized it once asked. Victor got out two plates and handed one to Peter. Together they made their plates, Peter loading up on both macaroni and broccoli. 

Victor chuckled lightly at the sight of Peter’s plate as they went to sit down. That made Peter feel a bit self conscious. He did have quite a lot. “Too much?” He asked quietly, ready to turn around and dump some of the macaroni back into the pot. 

“What? No, not at all. Have as much as you like. I'm just happy I don't have to remind you to eat your vegetables.” Victor’s tone was light and he wore a kind smile on his face. That relaxed Peter. He continued to the table and sat down across from Victor. 

Before Peter could dig in, Victor stopped him. He held his hand out into the center of the table. “I know you don't like to do it, and that's okay. But just for us, yeah?” 

Peter looked at the hand and gave a small smile. He didn't like the group huddle they did before eating. But he also wasn't a dick and could do this for Victor. He placed his hand on top of the older man’s and said, in an endearing yet exasperated tone, “all hands on deck.”

Victor's goofy smile got even bigger at that. “Thank you for this family, thank you for this day, and thank you for the plentiful food.” They moved their hands from the center and began their meal. 

They ate in silence for a few minutes before Victor cleared his throat and spoke up. “So, Pete, someone’s gonna be coming by today.”

Peter paused with a mouth full of macaroni and looked at Victor confused and a bit nervous. Victor continued on. “At around two, two-thirty, a lawyer’s gonna come by to talk to you. He's a friend of Rosa’s and–”

Peter swallowed the macaroni and interrupted Victor. “I don't want to.”

“Pete-”

“No. It's about the Mr. Westcott stuff, isn't it? I don't wanna talk about it. Especially to a stranger.” He was mostly done with his lunch, but he was losing his appetite fast. 

“You wanna live here right?” Victor asked. It was a genuine question spoken with a kind and calm tone. It wasn't a threat at all, and yet Peter still felt threatened by it. He nodded, his eyes glued to his plate as he picked at his food. “Then you need to talk to him. CPS wants to take you upstate. He's gonna help us keep you.” 

Peter felt sick. He was annoyed, frustrated, and angry. He knew he was being irrational, but there was something inside of him that just wanted to forget. He wanted to pretend nothing had happened, that he wasn't assaulted. And he felt like he was doing a pretty decent job of that. But now that was all fucked. 

Peter set down his fork and stood up. “I'm not hungry anymore,” he mumbled, picking up his plate. He dumped the remaining food in the trash before setting his plate in the sink. 

“Pete… please? We want to help you.” 

Peter gripped the edge of the sink as he stared down at his dirty plate. He wanted to scream. He wanted to rip the sink out of the counter and toss it across the room. Physically, he could do that no problem. But he knew that he shouldn't. So he just took a few deep breaths to try and calm the raging typhoon of emotions swirling within him. He released the sink and saw faint dents where he’d put his fingers. 

He didn't look at Victor. He just started towards the stairs. “I'm gonna take a shower,” he said, taking the steps two at a time. He could hear Victor let out a sigh and start typing away at his phone. He could only tell because Victor had his key press sound on. He knew Victor had to be telling someone about him. Whether it was Rosa or the mystery lawyer, Peter had no idea. But it upset him nonetheless. Or perhaps he was just upset in general. It was hard to tell right now. 

He’d get ready; shower, get dressed, look presentable. Do all the things to look like he's willing to talk. But he didn't plan to. Peter was good at giving the silent treatment until the other person gave up. He'd done it before with therapists, he'd do it again with the lawyer. It wasn't that Peter wanted Mr. Westcott to get away scot free. He just didn't want to deal with it. He didn't want to go to court and dredge up wounds he had been desperately trying to bury just to prove his victimization. He wanted to be over it.

It was nearing two-thirty and Peter felt some reluctant hope that maybe–just maybe–the lawyer wouldn't show. But, of course, there was a knock at the front door. Peter stayed upstairs, but listened in as Victor opened it and greeted whoever was on the other side.

"Hey. Mr. Murdock, right?" Victor greeted. 

"Nope."

"That would be me. Nice to meet you, Mr. Vasquez."

There were two of them? Peter could hear two distinct voices alongside Victor and curiosity got the better of him. He worked his way down the steps slowly, listening in as the conversation continued.

The first voice spoke again. "I'm Foggy Nelson, his partner." Peter was able to see them now. Mr. Nelson had shoulder length blond hair and was a bit on the heavier side. He assumed the other man must be Mr. Murdock; he had short brown hair, dark glasses, and a cane. He must be blind.

"Ah," Victor said, "gotcha. Nice to meet you both. Well, maybe not so nice all things considered. Either way, come in."

Peter stood about halfway down the steps as Victor led Mr. Murdock and Mr. Nelson to the living room. He watched them closely, especially Mr. Murdock. There was an odd itch of familiarity in his brain when he looked at Mr. Murdock, but he couldn't remember from where. To make matters worse, it almost seemed like Mr. Murdock kept… glancing at him. Obviously Peter knew he wasn't glancing at him; he was blind. But he kept turning his head slightly, tilting it just a bit, like his ears were an antenna and he was trying to get a better signal. Or like a dog. Peter remembered reading once that dogs tilt their heads to better hear and triangulate the source of a sound.

Victor turned towards Peter and called him down to introduce himself, interrupting his thought process. He didn't mind the interruption; he was getting to a weird place comparing a blind man to a dog. He did mind, however, having to introduce himself.

He entered the living room slowly, unable to mask the annoyance he felt. He didn't want to talk. He felt like an exposed nerve and talking about what happened would be equivalent to someone poking it. So he kept his mouth shut and wished the floor would swallow him whole. 

The room was silent for a few beats while everyone waited for Peter to say something . When it was clear that Peter wasn't going to speak, Mr. Nelson jumped in. 

“Hey, you must be Peter, right? It's nice to meet you.” Mr. Nelson offered his hand to shake. “I'm Foggy Nelson, and that’s Matt Murdock. We’re here to help you.”

Peter did not shake Mr. Nelson’s hand. He kept his own arms crossed. He wasn't sure if it was on purpose, but Mr. Nelson had sounded incredibly patronizing, like he was speaking to a small child. That made rage bubble deep within Peter’s gut.

“I'm fifteen. Not five.” 

Mr. Nelson retracted his hand very quickly and cleared his throat. “Okay, sorry about that.” 

Peter could see the smallest hint of a smirk on Mr. Murdock’s lips. At least someone found this amusing; Peter certainly didn't. 

“I think what Foggy here was trying to say is that we’re on your side. If you want us.”

“I don't.”

“Peter…” Victor tried, but Mr. Murdock put his hand up to stop him. He could handle this. 

“How about we talk first. Then you can decide.”

Peter rolled his eyes, an action that Mr. Nelson helpfully narrated for his partner. “Fine.” Peter sat down in one of the arm chairs, folding his legs underneath him. 

“Alright,” Mr. Nelson said. He set his briefcase on the coffee table and grabbed Mr. Murdock’s arm to guide him to the couch. But Mr. Murdock grabbed his arm right back.

He spoke quietly to his partner, but Peter could hear them loud and clear. “I got this, go talk to the dad.” 

“You sure? You got your tape recorder?” 

Mr. Murdock shook his head. “Don't need it. Trust me.”

“Always have to.” Mr. Nelson smirked at Mr. Murdock, even though the other man couldn't see it. There was a sarcastic lilt in his voice, a playful and teasing tone that meant no real harm. He gently patted Mr. Murdock’s shoulder before leaving him. He made his way to Victor, "let's leave 'em."

Victor seemed a bit apprehensive to leave Peter with a strange man. At the same time, Peter hadn't told Victor anything. The only reason Victor knew what had happened was because Rosa told him. So maybe his presence wasn't needed. Still, he looked at Peter, "I'll just be in the kitchen, okay. Shout if you need me." 

Peter nodded, and with that Victor led Mr. Nelson into the kitchen. Peter could hear them talking as he watched Mr. Murdock head to the couch.

"What could we expect with all this? Will we have to take it to court?" He could hear Victor ask. 

Mr. Nelson blew out a heavy breath. "Maybe? It all depends. We don't really practice much family law, mostly criminal law. Which this might turn into…" 

Peter felt a little sick. He didn't want to go to court. He didn't want to fight this through the legal system. Hell, he'd go as Spider-Man to beat the shit out of Mr. Westcott if he knew he wouldn't freeze at the sight of him. He did his best to tune out their conversation and focused on Mr. Murdock. 

He'd set his cane down and was gripping the arm of the couch hard enough that his knuckles were white. His other arm was wrapped around his midsection. He seemed to be in pain. When he finally lowered himself onto a seat cushion, he released a small puff of air. 

"Are you hurt?" Peter asked, but there wasn't much concern in his voice. His tone was flat, it was the only way to keep the frustration out of his voice. 

"Occupational hazard." Mr. Murdock said, his breath evening out as he relaxed into the couch. 

"You're a lawyer."

“Yeah, a really good one,” Mr. Murdock chuckled, then shook his head. “Sorry, inside joke.” Peter just stared, not at all amused. Honestly, just more confused. How does being a lawyer get someone hurt? Before he could voice anything, Mr. Murdock spoke again, this time with a more serious tone. “So, Peter, I’m assuming you know why we’re here. About the letter saying you’ll be taken upstate in a few days.”

Peter dropped his eyes to his lap and didn't respond right away. His anxiety spiked for a moment before he began to shut down. He shrugged, and then promptly remembered Mr. Murdock was blind. "I guess," he mumbled. He might be upset, but he didn't want to be rude and ableist. 

Mr. Murdock waited, in case Peter had anything else to add. When it became clear that wouldn’t happen, he continued, “You know, Rosa reached out to me a few days ago. Before there was even a formal notice. She wants to fight for you, wants you to stay. But it can only happen if that’s what you want too.”

Peter didn't know that. While he had grown closer to Rosa and knew that she would fight for him, getting confirmation from someone outside really just… did something to him. His emotions were a jumbled knot, tied up and caught throughout his body– from his feet to his head. The lines were taut and unidentifiable in the mess. He couldn't pick it apart, he didn't know where one ended and another began. He didn't want to pick it apart, sure that it was the only thing holding him together at this point. "I do," he spoke quietly. It was the truth. As much as he hated what was currently happening, he couldn't blame Rosa and Victor; they were trying to help. He'd grown quite fond of this messy little family. 

He couldn't say all that though. The knots made it hard to speak, and to voice those thoughts would risk it all coming undone. 

“Good. Then we’ll figure it out. The good news is, they don’t have a very strong case to take you away. The only thing that could make it a problem is… well, the school.” Murdock takes a pause, measuring his next words carefully. “You've been staying home for the past few days, which is an argument they could use. Rosa told me you used to go to Midtown before living here, but there were some complications, so you couldn’t continue. We could see about sorting that out, but it might take a while. In the meantime, it might be a good idea to find you a different school. It’s a weird time for a transfer, but short-term, that’ll probably be the best option.”

He scoffed at it being a weird time to transfer– like he hadn't just transferred to Fawcett. It wasn't that he wanted to go back, he hated that place. The only thing of value there were his foster siblings. But the thought of going through the process again, getting even further from Midtown… he wanted to yell. But he didn't. He held it in. The knots grew tighter. "Isn't there like… online school or something?" His voice was tense. He picked at his cuticles, trying to burn off the potential energy within him. 

“Sure, I suppose we could look into that. It’s better to sort that out as soon as you can though. And you’d have to keep your grades up. You do this, and there’s a good chance we can keep you here with just that.” 

That… okay that could work. Peter felt himself relax just a bit at how easy that was. He was used to adults arguing with him, acting like they knew what was best for him. He nodded again, then immediately cleared his throat and said, "I can keep my grades up." He was smart. He could be fiercely defensive of his intelligence; he'd realized over time that people tend to discount foster kids as lost causes and dumb. "That's not a problem."

Mr. Murdock chuckled, “Yeah, if half of what Rosa said about you is true, I'm sure you'll be fine.” He paused for a moment, then continued, his tone lower. “Hopefully being the new hero in the city won't interfere with those plans.”

Peter froze. His whole world froze. He stared at Mr. Murdock, his eyes wide. Then all at once, everything came crashing together. The injury, the voice, the smell, the body shape… 

His lawyer was fucking Daredevil . 

Then the front door opened and the knots inside of Peter snapped.

Chapter Text

"I still don't get why it made someone kill John Lennon," Freddy said as the group got off the school bus. He and Billy had just finished Catcher in the Rye in their English class and Freddy had been bummed to see there wasn't some weird murder manifesto hidden within the text. “It was just some boring kid complaining about phonies.”

“It didn't make him kill John Lennon.” Mary jumped into the conversation, “the guy was just crazy and used the book as an excuse.”

"Yeah, yeah, the book was still boring," Freddy waved her off. Mary couldn't really argue with that; it was pretty boring. 

The group approached their house, Billy in front, and opened the door. Billy stopped in the doorway, causing the other kids to run into him. He still didn't budge, he just stared at the stranger on the couch– no, not a stranger. The face looked familiar. It took him less than three seconds to make the connection. Holy shit, Daredevil was in their house. He figured out where they lived after Freddy told him Billy had seen his face! They were in so much trouble!

"Dude, move!" Freddy said, shoving against Billy. Billy did and the other's filed inside. 

"Oh, hello!" Darla said to Daredevil, she ran over to him, "I'm Darla! What's your name?" 

"Oh, uh, Matt Murdock–"

"Guys!" Victor said, stepping out of the kitchen, "leave him. It's a private conversation."

Billy pulled Freddy away, to a separate room still on the first floor. 

"What're you–"

"That's Daredevil," Billy whispered harshly. Freddy's eyes went wide and he did a quick glance back into the living room. He could see the man had tilted his head in their direction. "D'you think he knows?" Billy asked. 

"Shhh!" Freddy shushed Billy, whipping his head back around to face him. "He probably has super hearing," he whispered, slightly panicked. 

That lost Billy. "What… Why d'you think that?" 

Freddy looked at him like he was stupid. "'Cause he's blind ."

"He could be faking–" THWACK . Freddy hit Billy with his crutch. "Ow!" 

"So a blind man can't be a hero?" Freddy barely whispered.

Billy did not whisper, " What?! No! It's just–"

"Peter, wait!" That was Victor. They both hurried back into the living room just as Peter ran through the front door, slamming it behind him. 

Everyone gathered in the living room and shared a moment of stunned silence. 

"What happened?" Darla asked, genuinely concerned.

"It was too much," Matt–Daredevil–said. 

"We'll get him," Billy said, grabbing Freddy again and hurrying him along to the front door. 

"Call Rosa and have her pick you up. She has the van!" Victor said, essentially giving them his express permission. He really couldn't just leave his other kids with the lawyers. 

Billy and Freddy slipped out the front door and hurried after Peter. 

There were a few beats of awkward silence. This time, Foggy Nelson interrupted it by whispering to Victor. 

"Was the kid with the crutch really the best choice?"

Victor just looked at him, exasperated. He didn't respond. 

"And you are?" Mary asked, her arms crossed. She didn't trust them. She was more informed than the other kids about the situation with Peter and his potential removal from the house. Two men in suits visiting the house could be CPS, or lawyers.

"Foggy Nelson," he said, taking the chance to step away from Victor and toward Mary. "From Nelson and Murdock, attorneys-at-law." He held his hand out. 

Mary relaxed and shook Foggy's hand. 

"A turny set law?" Darla parroted, misunderstanding and spacing the syllables incorrectly.

" Attorney ." Eugene corrected. Darla shrugged, she still didn't know what that meant. 

"A lawyer." Foggy added. 

Pedro looked to Victor. He didn't have to ask anything before Victor said, " un abogado ." Pedro gave a nod. 

"An avocado?" Darla said, turning to Victor. 

"No."

Matt and Foggy both smiled, Foggy's much bigger than Matt's. Then, in a flash, Matt's smile dropped and he tilted his head to no one in particular. Foggy's smile faded to something more nervous and he quickly returned to Victor's side. 

"Well, our time got cut a bit short," Foggy looked at his watch, "but I don't really think he'd uh, want to talk anymore today. I think it's best to call it here." He offered his hand to Victor, who promptly shook it. 

Matt grabbed his cane and stood up while Foggy returned to his side. Victor followed behind to thank Matt as well, but Darla and Eugene stopped him in his tracks. 

"Why does Peter need a lawyer?" Eugene asked. 

"Well," Victor said, exhaling deeply. They hadn't really had time to explain everything to the younger ones, there were a lot of sensitive issues at play alongside Peter's privacy. He kneeled down to speak with them on their level. "You know how CPS came by on Sunday?"

Darla gasped. "Are they taking Peter away?!" Victor hadn't needed to beat around the bush; they were all foster kids and knew the process too well. 

"They're trying to," Victor started. 

"But we won't let that happen." Matt finished. He had approached, his arm linked with Foggy's, during their talk. 

Darla whipped around to him, her big eyes already wet with tears at the thought of losing her new brother. "Really?"

Matt gave a single nod. "Really."

Before anyone could react, Darla squealed and slammed into Matt, wrapping her arms around him. The sudden hug made him wheeze and groan, but he was thankfully braced against Foggy. Plus Darla was pretty light. Still, it seemed like it hurt more than it should.

"Thank you, thank you–"

"Darla!" Victor said, standing back up. He didn't have to say more as Darla quickly pulled back. 

"Oh yeah! Sorry! Can I hug you Mr. Lawyer?"

Matt had to catch his breath a bit first. His voice was tight like he was masking pain. "Yeah, yeah, but uh, a bit more gentle."

Darla quickly hugged him again, far more gently, and continued repeating thank you. 

"Alright, alright, that's enough." Victor said, placing a hand on Darla's shoulder to pull her away from Matt. "They have to get all the way back to Hell's Kitchen. And you all have homework." 

Victor led Matt and Foggy to the door, thanking them for taking on their case and apologizing for… all of that. Mary stood nearby. 

When Matt and Foggy finally left the house, Mary was quick to try and follow. Victor stopped her with a look. He didn't need to say anything. 

"I need to talk to them." Mary said, a determined look in her eye. 

Victor only took a second to deliberate. He trusted her. He gave a quick nod and with that Mary slipped out the front door. 

Matt and Foggy hadn't gotten far, technically hadn't even left the property yet. So Mary was quick to catch up. 

"Hey, wait, I need– I have stuff for you." The pair stopped and gave their full attention to Mary. "But first, I need to know… you're here to help Peter, right? Actually help him?"

"Of course," Foggy said. 

"No, but like, really help him. Not just keeping him in the house." 

"You mean dealing with Steven Westcott," Matt said. 

Mary nodded, "yeah." She pulled out her phone. "He's been a problem, but– but the school won't do anything. No one goes to administration about it because they just get dismissed." She unlocked her phone and pulled up her photos. She showed her phone screen to Foggy and started swiping through the pictures. There were three images in total. Each one showed Mr. Westcott's hand placed somewhere on a student's body, either the back, shoulder, or arm. Lacking context, the hand placement wasn't inherently predatory, but any form of non-emergent physical contact between a teacher and student was highly inappropriate. "I'm in his class. This was all since Monday ." Her tone was desperate. "I have– I've been getting testimonials from other students and compiling them and getting as much evidence as I can but I just… I just don't know what to do."

Foggy took the lead, considering he saw the pictures. "No, you– this is amazing. I mean, the pervert teacher isn't amazing, but you did amazing." He fished out a business card and handed it to Mary. "Send it all. Even if you think it's something small and unimportant, send it."

Mary nodded again, filled with purpose, "okay, okay." She clutched the business card close, and with that she returned to the house. She had a mission.

It didn't take Billy and Freddy long to catch up to Peter, not after they had Shazamed a few blocks from the house. Peter might be plenty faster than them in their regular bodies, but there was no competition in their superhero forms. Peter had crawled up onto a building and Billy and Freddy easily flew up and landed on the same roof. They gave him space, both unsure about how to actually handle this situation. They more so wanted to get away from Daredevil. And make sure Peter was okay, but it was more about Daredevil.

Peter was curled up on himself, sitting down on the roof with his arms wrapped around his legs and head resting on his knees. Billy and Freddy shared an awkward look before slowly stepping towards Peter, the rooftop gravel crunching underfoot. 

"Hey–" Billy started in a gentle and calming tone. But Peter was quick to interrupt. 

"Please just… I just wanna be alone." Peter didn't pick his head up from his knees, his voice a little muffled.

That stopped Billy and Freddy's approach. They weren't going to leave, but they'd give him space. So they sat down as well, several feet from Peter, and played with the gravel.

"We can't, dude." Freddy said, picking up a small stone and flicking it off the roof. "Besides, if you really wanna live with us…" Freddy shrugged nonchalantly, trying to alleviate some of the tension and seriousness of the situation, "this definitely doesn't help your case."

Peter looked up at that and glared at them, his eyes red and puffy. But any malice in his expression left just as quickly. Even if Billy and Freddy looked different, they were still his foster brothers. They had been through much of the same bullshit he had when it came to getting moved around. Peter let out a puff of air and set his chin on his knees, looking out at the cityscape of Queens. He didn't respond, he didn't know what to say or how to feel. 

"Ya'know, we all want you to stay." Billy tried. 

Peter nodded. "I wanna stay," his voice was tense, like he was holding back, "I really do. I just– it's…" He looked up to the sky, searching for his words, but they just wouldn't come. He became visibly irritated at his own inability to speak, let out a frustrated growl, and punched the ground beside him. The force sent gravel flying and left a large crater under his fist. 

Freddy, internally, decided fuck it. He stood back up and hurried to Peter's side, Billy following just a step behind him. "It's a lot," he finished for Peter, sitting down less than an arm's length from him, "I know, but those lawyers are gonna help. You just gotta talk to them and–"

"No," Peter said, brushing off any gravel on his knuckles and examining his hands, "that's the thing. I– I can't talk. Not about it."

Billy and Freddy shared a quick glance. Shit. They really weren't prepared for this. 

"Well," Billy started. He placed–what he thought was–a comforting hand on Peter's shoulder, only for Peter to immediately shove it off and punch Billy square in the chest. 

" Don't fucking touch me!" Peter screamed in a voice that was barely his own. 

Peter had put a lot of force behind that punch. Billy was positive that he'd have gone flying off the roof had he been in his normal body. Hell, the punch itself might've even killed him. But he was fine. It felt more akin to a light shove than anything else, and he wasn't sure if that was from the actual punch or just shock. 

Billy and Freddy just paused, surprised by Peter's attack. Peter huffed and puffed, fear and anger coursing through his veins. He was too vulnerable right now, too exposed. He could normally handle some amount of contact, even if he didn't like it he wouldn't throw a fist. Or at least he wouldn't have before all this, before Mr. Westcott. 

As Peter's breathing evened out realization spread across his face. "Sorry," he mumbled, standing up and wiping his eyes furiously. He was crying. He felt like he was always crying, or at least about to cry, nowadays. He only took a few steps in the direction of the roof edge before Freddy called out to him. 

"Wait!" Freddy stood up and mimed for Billy to stand up as well. Peter stopped, but didn't turn around. "Hit him again." 

"What?" Both Billy and Peter asked. Peter looked back, his eyebrows knitted together in confusion. 

"Hit him again," Freddy repeated, "or me. As hard and as much as you want. Let it out."

Peter shook his head, "no I– I can't…"

"Why not?" Freddy pressured, but didn't leave any time for Peter to respond, "we're practically invincible. We'll be fine. So hit us." 

Peter seemed to battle with himself internally, opening and closing his fists as Freddy continued to egg him on. He has had to hold back everything since he'd got his powers. He couldn't use his full strength to release any pent up emotions without severely damaging anything–or anyone–in his path. But his brothers… 

Peter closed his fist and looked at Freddy full of vitriol. He didn't hate Freddy, but had rather turned him into a manifestation of everything that had caused him pain.

"C'mon, hit me! Don't be a little bi–"

Peter decked Freddy in the face. Freddy went down and Billy winced slightly, expressing his empathy with a quiet "oof."

Peter's face softened as Freddy stood back up. "Shit, shit, I'm sorry! I shouldn't–"

"Dude! You're fucking strong!" Freddy said, his expression pure excitement. 

Peter blinked in confusion. What? 

"I know right?!" Billy added

"I wasn't expecting to really feel it, but damn," Freddy gave an impressed whistle and rolled his jaw. "Do it again."

"What?" 

"Do it. Hit me again. Actually!" Freddy pulled Billy in front of Peter, "hit him."

"Are you sure?" Peter asked tentatively. He just knocked a near impervious superhero on their ass. Both Billy and Freddy nodded. 

"Yeah, do it. Hit me as hard as you can," Billy said. He planted his feet firmly on the rooftop and tightened his core. "See if you can knock me over." 

Peter looked to Freddy, who was nodding enthusiastically. He shrugged, balled up his fist, and swung. 

Billy went down. 

"That's sick, dude!"

Yeah, Peter really wanted to stay with this family.

Chapter Text

Peter ran hard. He was hopped up on adrenaline and fear and he needed to get away. Where to? He wasn't fully sure. But he needed to leave. He had his backpack, filled to the brim with clothes, food, and whatever other essentials he thought he might need. Thankfully it was summer so he didn't need to bring any textbooks with him, but it was still heavy and hurt everytime it slammed against his back. 

By the time he stopped, outside a park, his lungs were burning. He gripped the chain link fence surrounding the park and bent over to try and catch his breath. It didn't work. His panting quickly turned into wheezing and little black spots started to pop up on the edge of his vision. Shit.

He slipped his backpack off his shoulders and set it on the ground in front of him, still struggling to breathe. He followed his backpack to the ground, landing on his knees. The rough concrete below dug into the sensitive joint, but he didn't care. He could worry about his knees after he finally got oxygen in his lungs. 

He searched through his backpack frantically as the black spots crowded out his periphery. He had tunnel vision in the worst way, but he couldn't stop or he'd die. It also didn't help that one of the lenses on his glasses had a huge crack through it. Out of frustration and worry he dumped his whole bag out. Clothes, granola bars, phone chargers, ramen packs, and more went everywhere. Where was it? Where was it?! Peter pushed stuff aside, feeling for the small plastic object. His lips and fingers were going numb; he needed to find it now.

There! He felt it! He reached into the pocket of a hoodie he had packed and pulled out a light blue inhaler. He shook it up, removed the cap, put it to his mouth, pressed down, and inhaled. His breathing was still rough, it would take time for the medicine to kick in, but the knowledge that he had taken it definitely calmed him down. 

Peter leaned against the fence, finally crashing as the adrenaline left his body. He looked at his stuff strewn all over the ground as minutes passed and his breathing slowly improved. He felt so tired. He took off his glasses, the world becoming a mess of blurry blobs and colors. He'd have to pick up his stuff off the ground eventually, otherwise it'd get taken, but part of him wondered: what was the point? What would happen when his inhaler ran out? Or when he needed his cracked glasses replaced? Sure, he had medicaid as a foster kid, but that didn't make everything free . And it's not like he could just get a job; he was only thirteen. 

Shit. Shit! Why did he leave?! He didn't know what he was doing. He was going to die out here. He was screwed once his measly snacks ran out. He didn't even have a bowl to make the ramen in! He'd have to eat it dry. He felt so stupid! 

He wiped at his eyes, but immediately flinched and had to hold back a scream. Oh yeah. That's why. The same reason his glasses were cracked. His foster dad had punched him in the face. Peter couldn't even remember why he did it– if there was a reason at all. He probably had a concussion.

With a sigh, deep enough to know that the medicine had kicked in, Peter pushed off the chain link fence and grabbed a granola bar. He opened the packaging and took a bite while he started to repack his backpack. He'd remember to keep his inhaler in his pocket in case he had to run again.

It didn't take him that long to gather all of his things, but it still left him feeling woefully unprepared and exhausted. He zipped up his bag and stood, throwing it over his shoulder. He had no idea what to do now, but in this far calmer state of mind he realized something; he was close to the cemetery that held his family. 

So he went there. He walked to the cemetery and made a beeline for his parents' plots. The sight of them saddened him; they were a little dirty and nearly a decade old. But even worse, were his aunt and uncle's plots. He had, essentially, come to terms with his parents' deaths. He had yet to do the same with his aunt and uncle. 

Peter sat down in front of their tombstones and broke down. He really was alone in this world. They had died over four years ago, but the wound was still fresh and bleeding. He was lost, he was hopeless, and he wasn't sure if it was worth pushing on without them.

Two years later, Peter sat in the same cemetery, in front of the same graves. He still felt lost and hopeless as he stared at their chiseled out epitaphs, but he knew to keep pushing forward now. Not to give up. 

"I have powers now," he said to his aunt and uncle's graves, "which is all kinds of weird. Never thought I could be–" he had to look up and blink to try and keep tears at bay. He was choking up, "–be a hero." He cleared his throat and continued on, updating his deceased family on his life. "And the family I'm with now… I think you'd like them. I mean, they're not you . But they're– they're taking care of me." Fuck it. He was crying now. "Things haven't– haven't all been sunshine and rainbows though…" He started to pick at the blades of grass around him. "There was a teacher… he did things. Bad things . I– I can't really say it, but if you're listening… Can you haunt him for me?" 

The graves remained silent. Obviously. Peter hadn't expected any kind of response, they were dead. And he was pretty sure, had they been ghosts, they would've haunted all the shitty foster parents he had in the past. But it still made him feel just a little bit better to ask. 

Peter pulled up a big chunk of grass and let the loose blades float back to earth. "I miss you…" his words were quiet, "and I really hope I can make you proud." He stood up and placed a hand on each gravestone. "I love you so much." 

And with that, Peter stepped away. 

It was a late Friday night and the cemetery was technically closed. Peter couldn't sleep–not like he was planning to anyway–and so he'd snuck in after hours to talk. He had so much to think about, so much going on. His life had always been hectic, but the past month had been something else entirely. 

He moved homes–which wasn't all that unusual–moved schools, got powers, was assaulted by a teacher, found out his foster siblings also had powers, and then found out his lawyer was freaking Daredevil. So yeah, a bit more hectic than usual. Even worse, he hadn't really had anyone he could talk to about it; not with his foster siblings, the only ones who might understand, going to school everyday of the week. And school! That was another thing! Victor, Rosa, and him had been looking at online school alternatives for him to finish the semester with, but they all sucked . While they weren't nearly as bad as going back to Fawcett and potentially seeing him again, he didn't want to go. He had enjoyed his new found freedom from school and it had only spurred his desire to finish it sooner. Maybe he could just drop out and get his GED…

No. He couldn't. His aunt and uncle would be so disappointed in him. If he failed out of highschool and then got his GED, they'd be proud of him for pushing on. But he was smart, he was amongst the top ten while attending Midtown. They had expected him to get full-ride scholarships to whatever college he wanted. If he dropped out just because he didn't want to go to school, he couldn't imagine they'd be nearly as proud. Sure, they were dead, but he still wanted approval from the version of them he'd curated in his mind. 

He reached the edge of the cemetery and did his best to close out all of those thoughts. He pulled his mask on and climbed up one of the large stone pillars attached to the iron fence. This was his escape. He didn't have to be Peter Parker right now. He didn't have to deal with Peter Parker's problems. 

He looked up into the skyline and calculated the best route to ascend. He wanted to swing, let the rushing wind drown out any lingering thoughts about Peter Parker's life. He wasn't Peter Parker right now; he was Spider-Man.

It was well past midnight when Peter decided to call it for the night. He had swung all around Manhattan, from Harlem to the Financial District and back, saving people as he went. The only place he avoided was Hell's Kitchen. That was Daredevil's territory, and he really didn't want to run into his lawyer while trying to distract from his life as Peter Parker. Despite all the danger that came with it, being Spider-Man was an escape for Peter. 

As he swung his way towards the Queensboro bridge, he spotted someone standing on a rooftop, watching him. As he got closer, he recognized who it was. Shit. Speak of the Daredevil and he shall appear. He was tempted to swing on, ignore him and just go home. But Daredevil’s head was following his movements, he was watching him. Was that the right word? Was he even blind? If not, that'd be one hell of a ploy to hide a secret identity. 

Begrudgingly, Peter swung up and landed on the roof, several feet from Daredevil. He didn't wait for the other to start talking, he jumped right in to say what was on his mind.

“You're actually blind, right? Because if not, it's just a dick move. Pretty ableist, my guy.” 

Daredevil let out a chuckle, "Not more ableist than assuming a blind man can't be a superhero," he shrugged. "But no, I'm actually blind. Which, I would've explained the other day if you hadn't run off." He didn't sound angry, or disappointed, but Peter still felt a bit embarrassed. Both at his running off, and the uno reverse ableism card that Daredevil just played. "I should've probably found a better way to tell you, but the rest of the kids were about to walk in, so it was pretty much my last chance. Sorry about that."

While Peter really didn't want to talk about his life, he couldn't deny his own curiosity. It also felt easier to talk up here, on a roof, with a mask on. It was more comfortable to talk for several reasons, so he wouldn't attribute it solely to Daredevil. He also had a few questions. 

"How'd you know I was me?" Peter said, but gave no time for Daredevil to respond; the phrasing sounded better in his head. "I mean, it was me– that I'm Spider-Man… how?" He had his own ideas, especially now that Daredevil confirmed he was actually blind, but he didn't want to entertain them for too long; he'd already assumed enough about this man. And he didn't want to make an ass out of himself, at least not more than he already had.

There was a pause while Daredevil considered the question. "I, uh... gained some abilities when I lost my sight. All my other senses got a thousand times stronger to make up for it, so I can smell, taste and hear a lot of things that most people can't, so it was a combination of things. I doubt other people can find out this easily though, if that's what you're worried about."

Peter hadn't been worried about that, not yet at least. He'd hidden his identity from his two–also secretly superpowered–roommates. No, he was more concerned about Daredevil's explanation. "I have that too," he said, although he doubted to the same degree as Daredevil, "the senses. It's… a lot ." And then a lightbulb went off in his head. "Wait! That's how you knew I was watching you! Back with B–" He cut himself before he released the consonant. Did Daredevil know that Billy and Freddy were the same superheroes that he talked to? Sure, Daredevil had come to the house, but they also had entirely different bodies… "Red Cyclone and Captain EveryPower." He watched Daredevil's expression to discern if he caught onto his near slip, but that didn't help. The other man's chin and lips stayed still. 

"Yeah, I could hear you. I'd think you were just a normal kid, if it weren't for those..." He pointed vaguely at Peter's wrists, "whatever they are. I heard you arrive, and land on the roof. Then I figured you might have something to do with those two, or the goblin guy they're after."

Peter looked at his wrists. He'd modified his webshooters a few times already–he was sure he'd keep modifying them–and they were far more sleek and snug to his wrists than before. Maybe he could work on making them quieter, too? "These are like a spider's spinnerets, except not on the abdomen, and not natural," Peter said, promptly ignoring the second part of Daredevil's response. He did know those two, he'd already told the other that. As for Green Goblin… he was hoping to stick to pettier crime until he felt more comfortable as a superhero. "I've started calling them webshooters and…" Peter trailed off when he realized Daredevil wasn't listening, but instead sniffing the air. 

Peter looked around; Daredevil had just explained his enhanced senses so he knew this couldn't be a good sign. He even tried to smell the air himself, but he just got a noseful of rancid Manhattan air. 

"Do you smell that?" Daredevil asked, walking to the edge of the roof. He had tensed up dramatically compared to the light conversation they'd been having. 

"No?" Peter said, approaching the edge as well. He looked over it and didn't see anything suspicious. It was just the late night pedestrian and car traffic common to the city that never sleeps. 

"There, the bald one." Daredevil said. There was a bald man walking on the sidewalk down below. He held a paper shopping bag in his hand.

"How–" Peter wanted to ask how he knew the man was bald, but he'd already embarrassed himself. “It's like echolocation, huh? Like a bat?” 

Daredevil ignored him, and Peter really couldn't blame him for that. They followed the man to the edge of the roof, and with no hesitation, Daredevil lept across the gap to the next roof over. Peter followed suit. “Hey!” Peter shouted, catching up to the other easily, “aren't you, like, hurt? Occupational hazard and all?”

“Peter,” Daredevil turned to him, and Peter froze immediately upon hearing his actual name, “I need you to be quiet.”

Peter sucked in and sealed his lips, despite the gesture meaning nothing behind the mask. He nodded and gave a thumbs up, assuming Daredevil could sense it. Daredevil gave a nod back, proving that he could sense it, and they continued on following the bald man on the sidewalk below. Despite Peter not really knowing why.

After a few blocks where Peter was only barely able to keep his mouth shut, the bald man disappeared down the steps of a subway station. 

Peter turned to Daredevil, “what now?” He felt like that was a valid enough question to break his silence. But Daredevil didn't respond right away; Peter assumed he was listening.

After a few moments of silence, Daredevil spoke, “he's walking on the tracks.” 

Peter cocked his head like a confused puppy. “That's… weird?”

“C’mon,” Daredevil said, walking towards the fire escape to make his way to ground level. Peter watched him drop down to the fire escape quickly. Peter just jumped off the roof and into the alley, he shot off webs to lower himself quickly, but safely. 

They slipped down into the subway station together, Daredevil leading the way. 

They hopped the turnstiles and dropped down onto the tracks, avoiding the third rail. They moved quickly to keep the bald man in Daredevil’s hearing range, but stayed far enough away that Peter couldn't see him. Peter was starting to hear steps aside from their own, but they were faint and distant. He still wasn't sure what scent had caught Daredevil’s attention, he mostly just smelled rats and their waste. He also got a whiff of a late night halal food truck classic: a chicken and rice platter. Peter assumed that's what the bald man had in the bag, considering there weren't any halal trucks in the middle of the subway tracks. He preferred the lamb himself.

They eventually came to a platform with a service door, just barely propped open with a small rock. Daredevil stopped and climbed onto the platform, Peter following suit. Thankfully, the lines that ran on this track were infrequent at this hour. But that wouldn't last for long. It was the weekend, but the frequency would still pick up to accommodate the early morning commuter rush. 

Daredevil opened the door after a few moments and slipped through, Peter followed close behind. It was a long, unlit, curvy corridor and the second Peter was inside he could smell it. Not the chicken and rice platter, that smelled good. No, whatever this was it smelled horrible . 

“Is that…” Peter whispered, and Daredevil nodded. This was the scent Daredevil was tracking like a bloodhound? Peter couldn't fathom why he’d want to get closer to this stink, but he also didn't know what they were doing in general right now. 

They moved down the corridor slowly and each step made the smell worse. This wasn't just the subway's lack of ventilation cooking up refuse and rat feces, Peter was used to that before he got powers. This was something unnatural.

Before they rounded the bend, Daredevil stopped and put his hand out to stop Peter as well. “He's here.” Daredevil said, his voice barely above a whisper. “Around this corner.”

“The bald guy?” Peter asked, matching Daredevil's volume. That seemed obvious enough, they had followed him down here. 

But then Peter heard it. A crackly, almost painful sounding voice came from around the corner. “How much longer will it take Sivana?” The tone was aggressive and the voice nearly inhuman. 

“I don't know,” that was a fairly regular sounding voice, although the tone was aggravated. There were two people. 

“Well, stop wasting time!” The first voice shouted. Peter felt like offering him a lozenge. 

“I need to eat!”

Peter's curiosity got the better of him. He climbed up the wall and onto the ceiling, ignoring the waves and hushed demands to get down that came from Daredevil. He slowly and silently crawled around the corner. When he saw who it was, he froze. 

It was Green Goblin. 

He'd never seen the villain in person before. He'd seen him on the news, specifically the attack on Oscorp. The same attack that shook the building, released the spiders, and gave him powers. He thought about scurrying back; he had no idea what to do about this. Sure, he was a superhero, but he was also a kid. Besides, Green Goblin had taken down Billy! It might've only been temporary and he might've knocked Billy on his ass before, but Billy hadn't tried to fight him. He'd given Peter a free punch. It was very different. 

But still, this was evidence. He didn't know what to do, but this is who Billy, Freddy, and Daredevil were after. Someone might know. He slowly slipped his phone out of his pocket and opened the camera, keeping his eyes on the bald man and Green Goblin. They hadn't spotted him yet, lost in their own argument. He held his phone close to the ceiling, aimed the camera at them and took a picture. 

And then the flash went off.

Chapter Text

Shit, shit, shit!

Peter fucked up.

He hadn't been a hero for very long, not even a full week yet, so it was expected for him to be pretty unprepared. Like right now, when he'd forgotten to turn off the automatic flash on his cellphone before taking a picture of the bad guys.

So the flash went off in the very dark subway service tunnel. While most people don't look up, they will when they see a bright flash of light coming from the ceiling. 

Peter made a quiet, but startled noise when the bad guys looked up right at him. So he turned tail and scurried away as fast as he could. He stayed on the ceiling until he got around the corner; wall crawling was good for stealth, not so much for speed. He dropped down next to Daredevil, shouted, “we gotta go!”, and started running towards the exit.

Daredevil didn't wait, he'd heard the whole thing. 

They sprinted quickly, but after only a few seconds they heard the whir of Green Goblin’s glider and the villain rounded the corner to make chase. Peter, who was a few strides ahead of Daredevil, stopped and let the other pass him. After a few steps, Daredevil slowed as well. 

“What're you doing?!” Daredevil said harshly, but Peter ignored him in favor of fiddling with his webshooters. Green Goblin was rapidly approaching and Daredevil growled like a caged animal out of frustration. But Peter had a plan. 

He freed a cartridge of web fluid and threw it down when Green Goblin was only a few yards away. He'd used enough force that, upon contact with the ground, the cartridge exploded. 

All the fluid he'd condensed into the small cartridge was released at once and solidified upon contact with the air. Miles of webbing came out in a thick spray that coated Green Goblin, his glider, and the walls.

“Go, go!” Peter urged as he started running again. He knew that it wouldn't last long, Green Goblin would be able to cut through them, but it was still an obstacle that would slow him down. Daredevil stayed close. 

Peter threw the heavy service door open like it was nothing and hopped onto the tracks below. Upon landing he felt it, a subtle rumbling of the tracks that signaled an oncoming train. He looked up at Daredevil, who gestured for him to get back on the raised platform. He did and together they pressed their bodies against the door. They had to time this right. 

He could see the train's headlights when he felt the first bash against the door. Green Goblin had worked himself free and was trying to get through, but Peter was strong. He kept his feet planted and stuck to the ground as he watched the early morning train pick up speed. When the train was about a foot away from them Daredevil called it. “Now!” 

They moved to the side and Green Goblin came careening through the door. He shot out past Peter and Daredevil and right into the path of the train. He didn't even have a second to turn around and look at the pair before the train slammed into him and took him down the tracks.

Peter flinched, for Green Goblin and Daredevil whose mouth was scrunched up in a pained look. The train was loud and the sound had nowhere to go besides bounce around the tunnel.

Suddenly, Peter felt a tingle in the base of his skull and he turned around to see the bald guy–Sivana–standing in the doorway with a pistol aimed at Daredevil. 

Then he fired. 

With milliseconds to react Peter’s body moved without any input from his brain. He threw himself at Daredevil to push him out of the way and they landed on the gravel below the platform as the final train car passed by. Peter moved quickly as he turned and shot a web at the gun. It landed and he immediately yanked the gun from Sivana’s hand, pulling Sivana out of the doorway a bit as the gun clattered to the gravel below. He grabbed Daredevil and went to stand, but crumpled the second he put weight on his right leg. He looked down and saw that he was pouring blood from a circular wound on his thigh. Holy shit. He'd been shot.

He couldn't worry about that now. They had to go, Sivana was coming and who knew when Green Goblin would be back. Thankfully, Daredevil was recovering as the train got further and further away. The older man was able to stand up on his own while Peter sprayed his leg wound with webbing as a makeshift bandage and stood up, using the wall as support. It still hurt to put his full weight on it, but it felt better with the pressure from the webbing. And even if it hadn't, they needed to go. 

But Daredevil didn't move. He sniffed the air for a second before focusing on Peter. “You're bleeding.”

“Huh?” Peter said dumbly. He glanced down at his impromptu bandage. There were already a few pinpricks of red as he started to bleed through it. “Yeah, yeah I know, but I'm fine. Let's go!” 

Peter tried to grab for Daredevil, but the older man just stepped out of his reach. “No, I'll deal with baldy. You get yourself help.”

“What? No! I'm not leaving you! You're still hurt!” 

“And now you're hurt. So go! Call your idiots and tell them to take you to Claire's.”

“But–”

“Go!” Daredevil left no room for discussion. He turned to Sivana and charged him. Sivana, now gunless and lacking any form of self-defense, ran back through the service door to try and escape. 

Peter was frustrated. It didn't feel right to leave Daredevil, but the man was more of a hero than Peter. He'd been a vigilante for years at this point. So, begrudgingly, Peter listened.

He hurried along, back up the tracks the way he entered. Peter kept one hand on the wall, and the other firmly against his leg to try and stem the blood flow. When he made it to the loading platform, Peter used both hands to pull himself up and left a bloody handprint on the bright yellow tactile pavers.

It sure was a sight for the few early morning commuters that were waiting for their train. The costumed kid took off, stumbling out of the subway station like a bat out of hell. At the same time, it was New York before sunup, so it wasn't all too unusual a sight. But, less than a minute later, Green Goblin zoomed out of the tunnels on his sputtering glider.

Peter made it out of the subway, unaware of Green Goblin's rapid approach. He leaned up against a building to catch his breath. He was really starting to feel his gunshot wound now and it hurt . 

Green Goblin came flying out of the subway station a second later and quickly spotted the boy. Green Goblin went right for him, and despite his spider sense yelling at him, he stood his ground; it wasn't like he could run very quickly. He didn't act bravely, no, he covered his face with his arms in preparation for the attack. 

He wasn't speared by the glider like he expected. Instead, Green Goblin grabbed his left arm and flew up into the New York skyline and towards Harlem fast . Upon realizing that he wasn't getting stabbed, he started struggling in an attempt to free himself. But Green Goblin’s grip was strong, strong in an enhanced way. They rose higher and higher, passing the tops of skyscrapers. Peter's struggle only caused Green Goblin's grip to slip from his forearm to his wrist, where his only stocked webshooter was. The boy became increasingly nervous about their height. He knew he could survive big falls, but this was getting ridiculous. 

Then the villain slowed. Peter looked up at him, his own struggle slowing. The air was thin and there was a deep chill in Peter's bones. They were really fucking high up; he didn't know if he wanted to be let go anymore.

Green Goblin sneered down at Peter then pulled the boy's wrist closer to inspect it. “What is this?” Green Goblin said, somehow both inquisitive and patronizing. Yet Peter didn't answer, distracted by how wretched the villain's voice–and smell–was and his own fear of death. He doubted the guy was expecting an answer anyway since he continued to talk, his voice hissing and popping as he spoke. “This is what you sprayed me with,” he started to squeeze Peter’s wrist harder, “a contraption.” Peter could hear the metal and plastic of his webshooter groan under the increasing pressure. Even worse, his wrist really started to hurt and his fingertips lost feeling from lack of blood flow. He started to struggle again, he knew what was going to happen. His webshooters were made from trash! If Green Goblin’s strength was hurting him, then there was no was they could withstand–

CRUNCH!

It happened. It wasn't all that loud a sound, but Peter felt it. He felt it through his bones, but in particular his wrist. Green Goblin crushed his webshooter. Bits of metal and plastic embedded themselves into his wrist, and he watched as blood crawled down his sleeve from under Green Goblin's fist. But even worse, Peter realized as they were showered in a spray of webs from his exploded cartridge, he had no web fluid left. His heart sank to the pit of his stomach. 

“Bye, bye,” Green Goblin said and he let Peter go. 

For a second, it felt like he was in Looney Toons. Or perhaps he had somehow gained the ability of flight. It felt like he floated there for a brief moment, but no. He couldn't fly. It was tiny strands of webbing holding them together before they snapped. 

Peter plummeted back to Earth. His spider sense screamed that he was in danger, like he didn't already know. He watched Green Goblin's form shrink as he fell, the entire time the maniac was laughing. 

Peter was scared. More than that, he was terrified. He was falling with no way to catch himself. He hit terminal velocity as the tops of skyscrapers came into view. He was going to die, he knew it. He was going to die because he wanted to play vigilante, because he wanted to stick his nose into something so much bigger than him, because he really was just a little kid. 

His body tensed in preparation of the fast approaching ground and he closed his eyes out of fear. He no longer cared about the gunshot wound in his thigh or the shrapnel in his wrist. None of that mattered anymore, not with his imminent death fast approaching. The only peace he felt in that moment was the thought that he'd be with his mom, dad, aunt, and uncle soon enough. The Parker Curse would end with him. 

Then his shoulder hit the top corner of a building. There was a sickening pop and Peter's eyes snapped open. He spun wildly from the impact before hitting the side of a different building. He was in an alleyway and ping-ponged between the two buildings helplessly before landing on his back hard . His head hit the ground a millisecond later and the world went black.

Peter regained consciousness a few minutes later, albeit he had know idea how long he was out. When he opened his eyes, he had a few observations: holy shit he was still alive, his vision was doubled, and his shoulder really fucking hurt . He tried to sit up, but he couldn't move his arm. He turned his head to look at it, which caused his vision to swim and his brain to pound against his skull. He noticed the small crater he was laying in–no, the one his body had made upon impact–before his eyes slowly tracked to his bloody wrist. His eyes moved towards his shoulder as much as they could, and even with his limited view he could tell that it was not supposed to look like that. 

Peter groaned out of pain, but also frustration. What was he supposed to do now? While Daredevil had told him to go to Claire’s–whoever that was–he was really planning on just going home. That wasn't an option anymore. Now he had no webs, and even if he did he couldn't move his arm. He was alive, which was cool he guessed. A small part of him wished he had just died so he didn't have to feel so shitty. But he shut that down quickly.

After a few minutes of regaining his bearings, he slowly moved his good arm to his pocket. Thank God his right arm was fine or he'd be far more clumsy than his concussed brain could handle. He grabbed his phone and pulled it out. There was a huge crack in the center with several smaller cracks spider-webbing from it. He swallowed thickly, pressed the power button, and prayed to any God that would listen; if his phone had broken, he was done for. 

Thankfully, it seemed like something was listening to Peter's pleas as his phone screen lit up. It was difficult to see and navigate the touchscreen, but he had his muscle memory to guide him. He unlocked his phone and pulled up his contact list. He hadn't needed to call Billy before, but he had all of his foster siblings' numbers in case of an emergency. And this was definitely an emergency. 

He pressed Billy’s contact and called him. He turned on the speakerphone and waited. The ringing hurt his ears and, in turn, his head, but there was nothing he could do about it. So he just waited. 

It took until the fifth ring for Billy to pick up. “Hello?” His foster brother said. His voice was groggy and confused. 

Peter had never felt such instant relief. “I need… help,” Peter choked out, trying–and failing–to keep his abused diaphragm from spasming. 

That got Billy’s attention. Peter could hear sheets rustling as, he assumed, Billy untangled himself from the bed. “What's going on?! Where are you?!” Billy whispered intensely. 

“H…arlem,” Peter wheezed out. It hurt to speak. It hurt to exist. But he tried his best to explain where he was. He couldn't see the street signs from the alleyway, but he had a general idea and could see a few buildings that could help pinpoint him. He could hear Billy wake up Freddy. 

"Okay, okay, I think you're somewhere on a hundred twenty-seventh, but stay on the call okay? We're coming." Peter could hear the worry in Billy's voice. 

"Yeah… yeah…" Peter said, his vision still twisting and twirling, "gotta… go to… Claire?" He said the name, unsure of himself. That was the name Daredevil said right? His head felt fuzzy. 

"Claire? You know Claire?" Peter could hear them Shazam into their alter egos. Had they already gotten outside? Time felt really weird. "Peter? Hey, Peter?! Say something!" They sounded like they were underwater, but Peter could still hear their concern. He opened his mouth to say something–he wasn't really sure what–but all that came out was a groan. "Shit, shit, we gotta move! Pete, stay with us! We'll be there soon, just stay awake!"

"'M… wake…" Peter managed to slur out, barely comprehensible. And also barely true. His eyes were open, but completely unfocused. The adrenaline had run out and he felt so, so tired. He didn't remember closing his eyes, but everything went dark and Billy and Freddy's frantic voices faded into the background.

Chapter Text

Billy and Freddy, in their superhero forms, flew from Queens to Manhattan with great speed. They were able to easily sneak out of the house considering it was about three in the morning and everyone was dead asleep. Everyone but Peter and now them. 

Well, maybe Peter was asleep. 

"C'mon! Say something!" Billy yelled into his phone. But Peter was silent on the other end. 

They made it to Harlem in record time and zoomed up and down the streets in search of their friend. Their brother. It only took a few minutes of searching to spot a brightly dressed figure laying in an alleyway.

There! Freddy saw him! He sped down and landed beside Peter, Billy followed a second later. Neither knew what to expect, only that Peter was hurt. The sight of their foster brother made their stomachs turn. He laid in a crater with a bloody leg and arm, and that was just what they could see through his clothes.

Freddy moved first. He kneeled to pick Peter up and right before he made contact Peter's body jolted, but went nowhere. Rather, Peter groaned and let out a weak, "ow."

" Oh thank god you're alive ," Freddy let out in a hurried slur. Both Billy and Freddy had been worried after Peter went unresponsive; they felt an instant wave of relief upon hearing him speak. 

"C'mon, let's get you to Claire's," Billy said. Freddy nodded and Peter let out a small hum. 

Freddy slid his hands under Peter, but the second he did Peter let out a scream and grabbed his own arm. 

"Sorry, sorry, sorry!" Freddy apologized on repeat while he stood up with Peter, who screamed the whole way.

Peter panted for a moment once they stopped moving and they let him catch his bearings, but they needed to get him help. So Freddy and Billy took off and made their way to Claire's, Peter in hand. Freddy could feel Peter tensed up in his arms the entire journey, so much so that he was practically shaking. He felt bad. At least Daredevil was unconscious when they took him to Claire's.

Once they made it to Claire's apartment, Freddy started towards the doors but Billy stopped him. 

"Fire escape," Billy said and led them to–what he really hoped was–Claire's window. They'd already promised they wouldn't come back, they didn't want to piss her off even more by going through the front again. 

They landed on the fire escape and peered in, relieved to see Claire napping on her couch dressed in scrubs. Billy knocked nervously and they watched as Claire jolted awake and looked at the source of the sound. 

There were a lot of emotions that flashed on her face when she spotted who was standing outside her window. First, there was definitely confusion, followed quickly by anger, then there were some that Billy and Freddy couldn't place, but it definitely finished with concern. Her concern only increased when she got to the window and opened it up, giving her a clear view of the injured vigilante in Freddy's arms. 

"What happened?" Claire said, her eyes scanning over the body. She didn't give them time to answer, "bring 'em in, on the couch."

Freddy followed her orders while Claire grabbed her medical bag. As he set Peter down on the couch, it jostled Peter's arm again and the boy hissed through his teeth. 

"You're awake?" Claire said as she returned. She set her bag down and kneeled in front of the couch. "What happened?" She asked Peter directly this time. 

"A lot…" Peter said, catching his breath through the pain and trying to gather his thoughts, "fell, real far–"

"You fell?" Claire clarified. Peter hummed positively and Claire immediately reached for Peter's mask. He flinched away, then winced at the pain it caused. "I need to check your pupils to see if you're concussed." Claire explained, her tone far gentler than she had been with either Billy or Freddy. 

"I'm definitely concussed," Peter mumbled, but didn't fight Claire off when she reached for his mask again.

Claire pulled the mask off and what she saw broke her heart. She had a feeling this was a kid, but she had hoped it was a grown man with a high voice or a masculine, adult, woman. But no, it was clear as day. This was a literal child. She felt sadness, but even more, she felt rage. She wanted to rip into the two idiots behind her, the ones she never wanted to see again, for endangering a child. But she had to help said child first.

She grabbed the small flashlight and shone it in the kids eyes, watching his pupils to see how quickly they dilated. It was a bit slow, but not terrible. 

“What's your name?” She asked.

“Uh… Spider-Man?” He responded, clearly uneasy with giving out his secret identity, even though she'd already seen his face. She just stared at him with a no-nonsense expression. “Peter.” 

She nodded, “and how old are you?”

“... Eighteen?” 

“Try again.”

Peter looked behind her, at the idiots who brought him here. She wasn't sure what they mimed at him, her focus was solely on Peter. 

“... Fifteen,” he said after a while. 

That pissed Claire off. She was mad at Peter for being so stupid, but she was even angrier at the idiots that brought him to her. He was only fifteen! She took a deep breath to calm herself, she wouldn't be useful if she got too riled up. 

“Okay, okay,” Claire said, collecting herself, she'd ream them out after she patched Peter up, “do you feel any numbness or tingling?”

“My– my arm,” Peter cleared his throat and gestured with his head to his arm. “I can't move it.” 

Claire examined his arm, first spotting the bloody wrist with bits of metal and plastic stuck in it. It could constrict his flexor tendons–if they weren't severed–but that would cause numbness in just the hand á la carpal tunnel syndrome. It also wouldn't cause a loss of function unless left untreated for years. She grabbed his arm to move it closer and remove the shards, but Peter yelled out in response the second she handled it. She followed the arm up and looked at his shoulder. It was partially obscured by his clothes, but it didn't look right. 

“Your shoulder… I think it's dislocated,” she moved over to his shoulder and touched it gently. It still elicited a pained hiss from Peter. “I'm sorry, this is gonna hurt.”

Peter nodded and Claire set his arm up to relocate his shoulder. He scrunched up his face and gritted his teeth as his arm was moved. “So, tell me how you ended up falling.” Claire said once she was in position. She needed to get Peter talking so he'd relax and she could slip his shoulder back into place. 

“Um,” Peter said, his face still scrunched up in obvious pain, “it was– was Green Goblin.” He explained in-between controlled breaths. “He grabbed me and– and flew me up high. Then he– he let go! ” Peter shouted at the end as Claire pushed his arm. 

Claire had relocated plenty of dislocations. She knew what she was doing. But when she reached the point where Peter's shoulder should've slipped back into its socket, nothing happened. Well, not nothing. It clearly hurt , but she couldn't overcome his muscle spasms to fix it. After a few long moments of applying pressure with no effect, she relaxed. Her eyebrows knitted together in confusion. Peter panted and showed signs that he was still in serious pain, probably even more after having his dislocated shoulder jostled around. 

“He, uh, has super strength…” Billy helpfully supplied from behind. “I don't know if that, like, affects it or anything…”

As much as Claire didn't want to agree with him, it made sense. “Probably. You do it.”

“Me?!”

“Either one of you, I don't give a shit. We just need to get his shoulder back in place.”

Billy looked to Freddy, who threw his arms up in the air. “I already hurt him when I moved him. I'm not doing it again.” 

Billy walked over to Claire and Peter and allowed Claire to position him just as she was. “I– I really don't know what I'm doing.”

“That's an understatement…” Claire mumbled to herself before offering a type of encouragement. “I'll guide you.” She lightly placed her hand on Peter's shoulder so she could feel when it popped into the socket and help guide it if needed. “You're gonna start pushing his arm up slowly .”

Claire placed her other hand gently around Peter's upper arm to guide the super strong idiot. She didn't really want to touch him. She turned her attention back to Peter. 

“So, what else happened? Other than the fall?” She asked, watching Peter's pained expression as they pushed his arm. 

“Um– hrrng! – well, my– my wrist.” 

“Yeah, I saw that. What about your leg? Why is it bloody?”

Peter opened his mouth to answer, but a voice from the window answered for him. 

“He was shot.” Daredevil said, stepping through the open window. 

Everyone turned their heads to the voice. Both Billy and Freddy jumped, which was fine for Freddy but not so much for Billy. The sudden jerky move pushed Peter's arm up quicker than intended and there was an audible pop as his shoulder slipped back into its socket.

“Fuck!” Peter yelled, wrenching his arm out of Billy’s grip and clutching his shoulder tightly. 

Daredevil approached Peter, an aura of annoyance surrounding him. “What happened to you? I told you to go get help.” He didn't yell, but his tone was stern. His words also raised a red flag in Claire’s mind. Was Peter with Daredevil when he got hurt?

“I did! ” Peter did yell. He was grappling with his shoulder pain fading and revealing the pain he felt everywhere else. “ Obviously. ”

It looked like Daredevil–Matt–was going to respond, but Claire jumped in first. “I need you to back up.” She put herself between Matt and Peter. She wanted to say more, but she held her tongue. For now. She'd give Matt an earful after she helped Peter. 

She resituated herself on the ground near Peter. “I'm gonna deal with your wrist first, then I'll take a look at your leg, okay?” 

Peter nodded and tried to relax to let her work. She took out a pair of tweezers and grabbed a dish she had nearby. Then she began the meticulous process of removing the bits of shrapnel lodged in Peter's wrist. She felt for the poor kid. There was no reason he should be out fighting crime at such a young age. She didn't even like Matt’s vigilantism as a grown man, but good luck trying to tell that hard-headed fool anything. 

She pulled out piece after piece of plastic, metal, and small bits of… sticky string? She could see Peter trying to hold it together, but it clearly hurt. It seemed like the skin had started to stick to the foreign materials just a bit as it took a good tug to get them out. Each tug made the poor boy wince and let out a small puff of air. She was almost done when Freddy cleared his throat.

“Is there something you could, like, give him? To make it easier? Maybe knock him out?”

“No,” Peter responded instead, wincing again as Claire removed another piece, “I wanna be awake.”

“Also, I don't just have anesthetic laying around and I'm not an anesthesiologist,” Claire said, not moving her eyes from her work. 

Once she pulled out the final piece and deposited it in the dish, she covered the lacerations with iodine and wrapped a bandage around Peter's wrist. He let out a sigh of relief that it was done, but the relief didn't last long as Claire moved down to his leg.

She pulled out a pair of scissors and, without warning, started cutting away his pant leg above the wound. 

“Wait, wait!” Peter yelled, sitting up. “Don't cut my pants!”

Claire paused for a second, not because Peter told her to, but because of the absurdity of the situation. She shook her head and continued cutting. “That’s insane,” she said under her breath. 

“Why?” Peter asked, disheartened by her destroying his pants. 

“Because,” she gave him an incredulous look, “you care more about your pants , than your life.” She glanced back at Matt, “that goes for you too.” Matt threw his hands up in exasperation. He hadn't even been a part of the conversation, but got dragged anyway. 

She fully removed the pant leg and took a good look at the wound without the weird sticky stuff over it. 

“Weird… this just happened?” 

Peter nodded, “yeah.” 

“It already looks a day or two old.”

“That's good though, right? I'm healing. I heal quick.”

Claire looked up at him, her expression calling his statement dumb. “There's no exit wound.”

“Oh…”

Claire dug around in her medical bag and pulled out a sealed scalpel. Thank God she’d started keeping more and more medical supplies after meeting–saving–Matt. Especially since they'd started treating her apartment like a vigilante's hospital.

“Whoa, whoa, whoa! Do you need that?!” Peter said, eyeing the scalpel hesitantly as Claire opened it. 

“Do you wanna keep the bullet in your leg?” Claire asked rhetorically. 

“... No,” Peter answered anyway. 

Claire got the scalpel out and held it carefully. She looked at Peter's terribly young face and sighed. She didn't want to do this. Of course she wanted to help Peter, but she could only do so much. She'd removed more bullets on the side than she had at work; that's usually a surgeon's job! 

She turned around to face her ‘audience’. “Big dumbasses,” she said. Billy and Freddy both snapped to attention. Matt did too. Which Claire found hilarious. “I need you two to hold him down, hold his hand, whatever. He needs to stay still.” Billy and Freddy nodded and hurried to either side of the couch. Claire turned back to Peter, who looked terrified, and her heart sank. Fuck. 

She gently placed her free hand on his upper thigh while Billy and Freddy apprehensively put their hands on Peter. Peter’s eyes were closed and his breathing seemed panicked. It made sense; she had a scalpel positioned above his open wound, but it seemed like there was more to it.

She stared down at the wound for a moment before glancing back up at Peter. “A hospital would really be the best option right now…” she tried, despite knowing what his answer would be. 

“No,” Peter said while shaking his head, his eyes still closed, “no hospitals.”

Claire sighed. Yup, exactly as she thought. She took a deep breath and returned to the wound. “Everyone ready?” She asked, despite not really feeling ready herself. She received a mixed but unenthusiastic response. Yeah, felt about right.

Chapter Text

Peter hated guns. He didn't like them before, but after getting a bullet dug out of his thigh… he really hated guns. 

It hurt, obviously. A bullet doesn't leave a clear path through someone's body, especially when there's no exit wound and you have superhuman healing capabilities. Claire had to search for the bullet through the meat of his thigh. His blood had started to clot and he'd started swelling. Claire had to cut into his wound during her search and debride it, resulting in a gorey mess that both Billy and Freddy refused to look at. Peter, on the other hand, couldn't look away; it felt surreal to watch someone dig through his muscle tissue. It also hurt like a bitch. He had to stay awake the whole time, not like he wanted to be unconscious. He'd prefer to never be unconscious again. Was that a healthy way to live? No, but he was currently getting a bullet removed from his leg; his physical health was never really a priority, was it?

He hated being held down. He wasn't sure if the nausea he felt was from that or the pain. Either way, he felt sick. It did distract him from the overall process though, which was somewhat beneficial. He also wasn't positive he could keep from ripping Claire off of him and tossing her across the room if he wasn't being held down. He didn't want to, but his spider sense was screaming at him to get away from the 'danger'. There was no real danger, but he couldn't get that message through to the primitive sense he'd gained with his powers. It could be very useful, don't get him wrong, but at the moment it was more akin to super anxiety. 

Peter just had to grit his teeth and bare it. And bare it he did. He managed to stay mostly quiet, only letting out grunts and huffs when he really wanted to scream. He squeezed Freddy's hand to ground himself, and he could see the other boy wincing. Whether it was from the bloody mess that was his leg or if he was actually hurting Freddy, Peter didn't know. Peter was either a lot stronger than he thought, or Freddy was a lot weaker. Maybe both.

By the time Claire removed the bullet, Peter was exhausted. All the adrenaline had definitely left his system at this point and he really felt just how late–well, early–it was. That and all the damage to his body he'd sustained over the course of the night. Which really sucked as there was no adrenaline left to hide behind when Claire began sewing up his leg.

Afterwards, when it was finally over, Claire wrapped his thigh in an actual bandage and his foster brothers released him. Then, and only then, could Peter relax. He let out a sigh of relief, but it turned into more of a groan at the end. While he felt so much better without a bullet in his leg, he still ached. It just wasn't as bad. 

He felt like he could fall asleep right then and there as Claire left to clean up, but he knew that wasn't feasible. Dawn was fast approaching. Billy, Freddy, and Peter all had to be back in bed, looking like regular teenagers, before anyone checked on them. It might've been the weekend, but the house could wake up at any moment. 

Matt took this time to approach, still fully decked out in his Daredevil gear. He looked pissed, a scowl on the only visible part of his face and his arms crossed over his chest. 

"What happened?" Matt asked, his tone demanding answers. 

Peter wanted to roll his eyes, but didn't. "A lot," he said. There was no change to Matt's expression, he wanted more. Peter let out a huff of air which tugged at his aching ribs. "Green Goblin came after me, before I could get help. He grabbed me and…" Peter mimed dropping something with his good hand, even making the sound of him landing with his mouth. Then he remembered Matt was blind, "and dropped me." 

He could see Matt's mouth soften just slightly. In a way, that almost annoyed him. He understood that he was a kid, but that didn't mean he always wanted to be treated like one. 

"You guys went after Green Goblin by yourselves?" Freddy asked for clarification, "why?"

"We didn't mean to," Peter supplied. He begrudgingly sat up, wincing in discomfort. He felt bruised all over. 

Immediately Billy put his hands up and spoke, "whoa, whoa, I think you should stay down."

"I don't know, he was pretty strong," Freddy mumbled, opening and closing the hand Peter had held onto like it was sore. Had he actually hurt Freddy in this form? 

Peter pulled out his phone with his good hand and ignored both Billy and Freddy. "Daredevil… sensed him. On this bald guy." He pulled up the photo he had taken in the service tunnel and showed it to his foster brothers. 

"Holy shit," Freddy said, grabbing the phone to get a closer look, "is that…?"

"Yeah," Billy said, his eyes wide as he looked at the photo, "that's Sivana."

Peter looked at Matt. Neither of them had said the name. He looked back at Billy and Freddy. "You know him?"

"He was, like, our first supervillain. The bad guy I told you about. When I got my powers." Freddy said, handing the phone back to Peter. He looked at Billy, clearly confused, "I thought he was in jail."

"He was!" 

"Not anymore, obviously," Matt said, any softness from before wiped from his expression. "What do you know about him?"

Billy and Freddy shared a contemplative glance before Billy spoke, "not… much. He doesn't have his powers anymore. He's– he's just a dude now. I'm pretty sure…"

"Yeah, you destroyed the staff. He shouldn't have any powers. He's just crazy, now."

"Maybe the demon guys?"

"No, no, they 'poofed', remember?"

"Oh yeah," Billy said, quietly. Wracking his brain for anything else about Sivana.

"What are they talking about?" Matt asked, directed at Peter. 

Peter shook his head, "I'm just as lost as you."

"There was this stick– staff thing, from a wizard, that gave us powers." Billy explained, mostly for Matt's benefit, but the explanation they'd given Peter before wasn't that great either. 

"Yeah, but he took it and was in cahoots with these like… demon, statue, biblical sin things…" Freddy continued. Peter looked absolutely gobsmacked. What the actual fuck were they talking about? They hadn't mentioned that to him. "Then we got it back, Billy gave us powers, and then broke the staff."

"Billy…" Matt whispered to himself, rolling the name around in his mouth. It sounded so familiar. It should, it was a common enough name, but there was something else. It compounded with the sense of recognition he'd had for the two idiots, but he wasn't exactly sure what. It was like a word on the tip of his tongue that he just couldn't figure out; instead he kept saying words that seemed right but sounded off. Everything about them seemed familiar, but was off just enough that he couldn't place it.

He pushed that inkling to the back of his mind; he had bigger issues to deal with for the time being. Thankfully, his rumination over their slip up went unnoticed as the idiots continued. 

“Yeah, exactly,” the bigger one said, “so he really shouldn't be much of a threat. He's just an old bald guy now.”

“He's not a threat,” Matt confirmed, having beaten him swiftly after following him back into the service tunnel. He'd left Sivana with a concussion and sore ribs at the least, likely a broken bone or two. Sivana had shot at him after all and ended up hitting a literal child instead. Matt would say any injuries he received were well deserved. “But he is working with Green Goblin. Likely the one who got him out of prison. The real question is why.”

“It looks like they were working on something,” Peter said, looking at his phone. Matt assumed he still had the photo he'd taken in the tunnel pulled up.

“The vials,” Matt said, certain pieces of the puzzle falling into place. Green Goblin had broken Sivana out of prison to work on whatever was in the vials. He just needed to figure out what it actually was, but he hadn't heard anything from Claire about them yet.

‘Speak of the devil and he shall appear,’ Matt thought as Claire returned to the living room, drying her hands. *

"Lift your shirt," she demanded of Matt, her arms crossed. 

Matt put his hands up, "that's pretty forward, there's a kid here."

"Shut up and show me your stitches.”

Matt sighed and lifted his shirt. As Claire unwrapped his bandages he could hear the trio whispering among themselves. 

“We need to head back, like now. It's almost sun up,” Peter whispered.

“Yeah, but–” 

“No, if someone comes in and we’re gone… we’re screwed. I'm screwed.” Peter's voice sounded tense and Matt could practically smell the anxiety on him. He could understand why, since his caseworker seemed determined to remove him from Rosa’s care. What seemed odd was Peter's choice of pronoun…

Claire touched his now exposed stitches and Matt hissed through his teeth at the contact. 

“Miss Claire,” Peter said, standing up with help from one of the idiots. Claire turned to look at him and Peter cleared his throat. “Uh, thank you for– for everything. But I really gotta go.”

She seemed ready to argue, but sighed instead, her tensed shoulders dropping. “Okay, but just… if anything goes wrong, come back.” 

Peter was silent for a beat, everyone was. Whether Claire was exhausted or just being nice because Peter was a child, Matt didn't know. But it seemed to take everyone by surprise. 

“Yes ma’am,” Peter gave a small smile and Claire gave one back. 

They waited for the trio to leave, out the window like they'd arrived, before Claire turned back to his stitches.

"The stitches you did look like shit," she commented, deadpan. 

"Well, I'm blind, so…" Claire looked up at him, annoyed, and flicked the angry wound. "Ow!" Matt yelped, pulling his shirt down quickly.

“I wasn't done.”

“Tormenting me?” Matt asked jokingly. He removed his cowl before lifting his shirt again. 

“Yes,” she said, pulling a sterilized pair of suture scissors out of their package. She began to remove Matt's shoddily done stitches, berating him the whole way. "I shouldn't even be helping you right now. I should just let you get an infection and suffer. I mean, what the hell is wrong with you?”

“A lot,” Matt tried to lighten the mood but Claire was not having it.

“I'm serious Matt. That kid, Peter, he’s fifteen .” She finished removing Matt’s stitches and got her suture materials ready to redo them. Better this time. “And you dragged him into this shit knowing that. You got him hurt.”

“Claire–” Matt tried. Claire cut him off by starting the first stitch. 

“He should be doing his homework, hanging out with friends, anything but running around and risking his life like an idiot.” The final word was pointed directly at Matt. She was pissed; if her tone didn't give it away, the aggression she put behind redoing his stitches sure did. Matt wanted to ask her to be gentler, but felt that would only piss her off more. Another part of him also felt like he deserved the pain, because Claire was right. “I mean, what if something else happened, Matt? What if he had died ?” She paused in her work to look at Matt’s face. “Would you be able to live with yourself after that? With a child's blood on your hands?”

Matt chewed on his tongue for a moment. He knew the answer: no, he wouldn't be able to live with himself. But he could barely live with himself as it was. “I told him to get help,” Matt defended himself, despite knowing his defense was weak. 

“He shouldn’t’ve been there in the first place, Matt! Don't you get that!”

“I wouldn't have been able to stop him,” Matt didn't raise his voice, but his tone became irritated. In part because of pain, but also the whole situation rubbed his nerves the wrong way. “Shit!” Claire pulled the last stitch extra hard. Matt wanted to protest, extra damage would only extend his healing time, but he knew better than to bring that up. 

He could sense Claire relax slightly as she prepared an iodine dressing for his wound. She placed it on him before speaking, “why are you even working with a kid?”

Matt sighed, “he reminds me of myself.” 

“Stupid and stubborn?”

Matt gave a tiny lopsided grin at that. “Stubborn, yes. Stupid…” he trailed off at the end with no intention to finish that statement. Peter was smart enough to get into Midtown on a full-ride scholarship, but dumb enough to get kicked out. It was complicated. 

“That also didn't answer my question. Are you mentoring him or something?” Claire asked as she wrapped a bandage around his torso. She gave it a sharp tug as a warning.

“No. Not intentionally at least.” He sighed again, deciding how much of Peter's personal information to divulge. “I'm his lawyer. I was in a group home with his foster mom growing up and they… they really needed help. The state is trying to take him away.”

Claire's movements slowed as she listened and the implications of Matt's words sunk in. “And… he just happened to have superpowers?”

Matt nodded. 

“And know the two idiots you gave my address to?”

“Yup,” Matt said, popping the ‘p’. 

She secured the bandage and sighed. “Why are things always so complicated?”

“You're telling me.” Matt pulled his shirt back down. Claire started packing up her medical bag when Matt spoke again. “Speaking of complicated…” Claire paused and looked at Matt suspiciously, “any news about the vial?”

Claire sighed and continued packing up, “no. We’re backed up at the hospital and they don't really have time to analyze a strange liquid as a favor.” Her tone was sharp and Matt couldn't blame her for being annoyed; she risked termination if it got traced back to her. So Matt just nodded and put his cowl back on in preparation to leave. “I'll call you if I hear anything,” Claire conceded in a far gentler tone. She picked up the bag to take it out of the room, “now go get some rest. No more stupidity tonight.”

Matt couldn't help the small smile and short huff of a laugh he gave as he headed to the window. “Trust me, I'm going right to bed. I've got an important meeting tomorrow.” He stepped up and out of the window, giving Claire one last send off. “Thank you.” It was for fixing him up, but also everything else. She'd saved his ass a dozen times or more and a simple ‘thank you’ could never encompass the gratitude he felt for her. Or the gratitude she deserved. 

“Shut up and go home.” 

*Bonus section where Freddy is an Idiot

"Lift your shirt," she demanded, her arms crossed. 

Matt put his hands up, "that's pretty forward, there's a kid here."

"Shut up and show me your stitches."

Matt sighed and lifted his shirt. Claire removed the bandages and Peter could see how red and irritated it was even from his angle. She touched around it gently and Matt hissed lightly in response. 

"The stitches you did look like shit," she commented, deadpan. 

"Well, I'm blind, so…" Claire looked up at him, annoyed, and flicked the angry wound. "Ow!" Matt yelped, pulling his shirt down quickly. 

Peter turned and looked at Billy and Freddy, watching the interaction along with him. They seemed excited, conspiratorial almost. He wasn't really sure if they knew that his lawyer was Daredevil. Or if Matt's detection skills extended far enough to realize 'the idiots' were his foster brothers. They'd all been in the Vasquez house together, even if just for a brief moment. Now all their alter egos were in Claire's apartment. Peter wasn't sure if it was the lingering effects of hitting his head, or the obscurity of the situation; over eight million people lived in New York and they all somehow stayed connected. 

Claire 'tended' to Matt, which consisted of cleaning up his old wound and doing nothing to treat anything he'd gained over the course of the night. While doing so she berated him constantly in a volume just loud enough that it was clear she wanted Peter to hear as well. 

"I shouldn't even be helping you right now. I should just let you get an infection and suffer. I mean, what the hell is wrong with you? First, you get sliced up by a green freak, then you take a child with you the next time?! Ohhh, I could so kill you right now. He is fifteen . He should be doing his homework, hanging out with friends–well frankly he should be asleep right now–not whatever shit you dragged him into. You condoned–"

"Claire–" Matt tried, but Claire wasn't having it. 

"No, you're listening to me. I can't stop you, whatever, but this? Really? Endangering the life and happiness of a child? I get that your childhood wasn't great, that you had to do some fucked up shit, but don't ruin his."

"Claire," Matt's tone was more pained and his hands hovered above hers, where she was wrapping his stitches in clean bandages, "it's pretty tight."

"Good." She spoke with finality and gave the dressing a final tug before finishing them off. 

With Matt taken care of she turned away from him and her eyes landed on Billy and Freddy. She rolled her eyes and scoffed. She moved to turn away from them, but stopped herself, her eyes narrowing. "Why do you know a fifteen year old?" She held her arms out and oscillated between the pair and Matt. "Why are any of you okay with this?!"

Billy and Freddy immediately became stuttering messes somehow incapable of forming a complete thought. They even briefly looked at Peter for help, to which Peter shrugged–one shoulder going higher than the other–and said, "just tell the truth," with the inflection of a question. He was tired of all the secrets. They were all working together anyway, even if Peter's introduction to Green Goblin's hit list was accidental. 

Billy and Freddy looked at eachother and gave small shrugs. Freddy took a step away, his arms spread wide. "Well, Miss Claire, we have… other bodies." Claire just stared at him dumbly and Peter realized what Freddy was about to do. 

"No! Freddy, not ins–"

" SHAZAM! " 

Lightning flashed into the room through the roof, through the other floors of the apartment Peter assumed. 

Chapter Text

Peter was exhausted. He'd made it home, with help from Billy and Freddy, right as the first rays of morning light peaked over the horizon. They had all changed into their pajamas and crawled into bed to get what little sleep they could. Peter passed out the second his head hit the pillow, but only a few hours later they were awoken by a knock on the door and beckoned to help with breakfast. 

Peter forced himself to sit up and took stock of his body. His shoulder and ribs felt better, not a hundred percent, but much better than last night– a few hours ago. His leg and wrist were a different story. They both felt marginally better, but still ached something fierce. He was tempted to remove the bandage around his wrist to see how fast he could heal, but it stung when he touched it so he decided it was best to just leave it alone. 

He donned an oversized hoodie that he'd worried thumb holes into ages ago to hide the bandages around his wrist. Billy and Freddy stayed with him, rubbing their eyes and yawning. They were acting just as exhausted despite getting at least twice the sleep Peter had gotten. He couldn't blame them though, he had interrupted their sleep with a pretty anxiety inducing call. Besides, he often ran on only a few hours of sleep– especially now.

“You gonna be okay?” Billy asked, seeing Peter’s limp. It hurt to put weight on his injured leg, but what else could he do? So he shrugged, one shoulder going higher than the other.

“Okay enough,” he said. He was alive, which was enough for him. 

“They're gonna notice,” Billy said in reference to Victor and Rosa. Hell, Peter was sure Darla would notice and make sure everyone knew that Peter was hurt. 

“You could fall down the stairs,” Freddy suggested. Peter and Billy looked at him, slight confusion on their faces. “I mean, pretend to fall down the stairs. Like slip and ‘twist your ankle’.” Freddy continued, adding air quotes. 

Billy looked at Peter and Peter… well, he was too tired to argue. If he had to throw himself down the stairs to get Rosa and Victor off his back, then so be it. “Sure, that works.”

The trio left their shared bedroom. The second Peter reached the top of the stairs he proceeded to throw himself down them. His extra sense kept him from getting hurt, sans a few bumps and bruises that would heal within a few hours, and he was able to keep his leg and wrist out of harm's way. But he slapped his good hand against the steps and walls to create loud bangs that alerted the whole house.

Billy and Freddy, still standing at the top, winced. It looked painful. 

“I didn't mean all of them,” Freddy whispered to Billy, “just like the last few…”

Most everyone else was already in the kitchen and rushed to the stairs to see what happened, where Peter was laying in a heap at the bottom. There was a lot of commotion, several “oh my god!”’s and “are you okay?!”’s. Peter brushed them off quickly, standing up with the help of the bannister. 

“I'm fine, I'm fine, I just– I think I slipped.”

Rosa took charge, getting closer to Peter and offering her arm. Peter took it with his good hand. 

“That sounded really bad, Peter. Are you sure you're okay? Did you hit your head?” Rosa asked, concerned. 

“No, I'm fine. Really. I'm, uh, spongy,” Peter said, receiving only confused and concerned looks in response. “I didn't hit my head, but I– uh, I think I twisted my ankle.” 

That didn't seem to ease Rosa's worry, or anyone's really. “Do you wanna go to the doctor?”

“No! I swear, it's all good!”

Rosa and Victor threw glances at each other, but let the situation slide. They allowed Peter to sit out of breakfast preparations–oatmeal with assorted toppings–but continuously checked up on him. The other kids, sans Billy and Freddy, also checked on Peter. Even Pedro checked on Peter. It was only once and nothing was said, but at least that was something. At one point, Darla gave his ankle a kiss to make it feel better before Victor or Rosa could stop her, which was pretty weird. 

However, once breakfast was ready, the table was set, and they did their ‘all hands on deck’ shtick, it descended into its usual chaos.

After several minutes of scrambling for their favorite toppings and Darla telling everyone about her dream, things started to calm down as people got a few bites into their warm and sweet oatmeal. 

“Anyone have any plans?” Victor asked casually. 

“Can we go out?” Freddy asked, gesturing to Peter, Billy, and himself.

Rosa and Victor shared a quick glance, their eyebrows furrowed. Rosa stepped in. “Well, you and Billy can, but Peter,” her gaze moved to Peter, “remember? We have a meeting today.” She tried to be subtle, but Peter just gave her a confused look in return. He had no memory of a meeting scheduled for today. 

“With CPS,” Victor whispered, almost like it was a bad word; in this house, it kind of was. It didn't help however, as Darla gasped dramatically. 

“No!” Darla whined, her eyes started to water. “Is Peter really leaving?!”  

“No, baby,” Rosa reached over to rub Darla’s hand in comfort. “We won't let them take him.” 

“What're you gonna do?” Eugene asked, his eyebrows scrunched up in worry. 

“Nothing for you to worry about,” Victor tried to halt this conversation in its tracks for the sake of Peter's privacy. It didn't help.

The remainder of breakfast was spent discussing how to keep Peter, including–but not limited to–hiding him, moving away, and kidnapping him back if he was taken. Obviously all shot down. On one hand it gave him a sense of belonging he hadn't felt in ages, on the other hand it kind of made him feel like a pet. Either way it was embarrassing to have so much attention on him, but he guessed that's what families were for.

Billy and Freddy didn't end up going out. Rather, they hung around for a few hours until Rosa, Victor, and Peter had left for their meeting. It was high time they had another lair meeting. Billy and Freddy had a lot to update the group on, but they hadn't had much time or privacy in the past week for more than a few words. So they Shazamed into their alter egos and met in The Lair. They didn't necessarily have to do all that, but it was more fun that way. 

“So, Peter is Spider-Man, you know Daredevil, and Sivana is out of jail and working with Green Goblin?” Mary summarized the rant Billy and Freddy had gone on. 

“Pretty much sums it up, yeah.” Billy confirmed with a shrug.

“And Peter didn't fall down the stairs this morning. Well, he did , but it's just a cover for his other injuries.” Freddy added. He wouldn't describe them, he wanted to scrub those memories from his brain as soon as possible.

Mary placed her hands over Darla’s ears. “Shit,” she mumbled. She released Darla and leaned back against the couch.

“What're we gonna do?” Eugene asked, only to be met with silence for a few long moments. When it was clear that Billy and Freddy had no answer, Mary jumped in. 

“Well, put Sivana back in jail for one.” There was a chorus of agreements from the others in response. Mary rolled her eyes as the group descended back into silence. 

Pedro piped up after a few moments, “how do we… do that?”

“Beat him up,” Freddy said, but his tone made it more of a question.

“Yeah,” Billy agreed, “well, find him first. Then beat him up.”

“D’you know where he’s at?” Eugene asked. 

“Subway tunnels.” Billy said confidently, pointing a finger gun at Eugene.

Mary immediately crushed his confidence. “You mean somewhere in the miles upon miles of subway tunnels under Manhattan?”

“... Yes.”

“Can’t you just ask Daredevil? Or Peter?”

“No and yes–” Billy started. 

“Daredevil doesn't really like us.” Freddy helpfully added. 

“Wonder why,” Mary mumbled, her tone dripping with sarcasm.

“Oh, oh!” Darla shouted, raising her hand like she was in school. “If Peter has powers like us, can he join our team?”

“I think he's technically on our team already, being a superhero and all…” Freddy said, but went ignored; Billy began speaking about halfway through.

“I mean yeah, but… it was a lot last night. And he still has to heal. He has powers, sure, but not like ours. He can still get hurt.” Billy had knelt down in front of Darla, who was seated on the couch next to Mary. 

“What powers does he have?” Mary asked, trying to change the subject. She could tell whatever happened last night wasn't pretty from the looks on Billy and Freddy’s faces. She didn't trust them to tread lightly so as to not traumatize the younger ones.

That was Freddy’s time to shine and, as expected, all eyes turned to him. 

“Well, he's super strong, and sticky, and…” Freddy continued describing Peter's powers. Both what his brother told him, and what he’d figured out himself.

Did Matt feel like shit? Yes. Was that anything new? Absolutely not. He had plenty of practice acting like he didn't have serious injuries in his day-to-day life. Didn't mean it hurt any less; he was just a good actor. 

He met up with Foggy at a cafe in the upper east side to wait for Rosa, Victor, and Peter. It was a good halfway point so they could travel to the DCFS meeting all together. He was running on only a few hours of sleep and needed a coffee. He'd had a cup at home, he just needed another. 

“So, what are the chances this is a complete disaster?” Foggy asked as they found a table. 

“We’ll be fine,” Matt assured him. “The Vasquez's are good people, all their other kids can confirm it’s a good home. Not the worst case to dip our toes into family law.”

“Sure, not taking into consideration the horrible crime that took place. But I suppose that’s more familiar territory, for better or worse.”

“Exactly. See? We got this.”

He felt prepared. He'd read up on family law and had prepared defenses in his head. What he hadn't expected, however, was Peter showing up with such an obvious limp. Sure, he knew Peter was hurt, but the boy had also continuously mentioned his advanced healing the night before. He also doubted that Peter had told Victor and Rosa the truth of what happened.

“Whoa, is everything okay?” Foggy asked, understandably distressed about the kid showing up injured.

Rosa sighed before answering, “Peter fell down the stairs this morning.”

Matt brought his coffee cup up to his lips to hide his smirk. ‘Good excuse,’ he thought to himself. Although it definitely wouldn't be good for their case. “Really? Are you alright? Did you take him to the doctor?” He asked, despite knowing the answer. 

“No, he refused.”

“I'm fine, really,” Peter defended himself. Matt knew that was a lie and he didn't even need to listen to Peter’s heartbeat to tell. The kid had been shot and was awake during minor surgery less than twelve hours ago. There was no way he was okay, mentally or physically.

Matt readjusted himself and sipped his coffee, a black Americano, as he reworked his defense in his head. Showing up with an injured kid to a DCFS meeting where the objective was to prove said kid was safe in that home was… less than stellar.

Oh well, he'd make do. He was a damn good lawyer after all.

Peter felt numb. So incredibly numb. The meeting went horribly. He was to be temporarily removed from the Vasquez house pending an investigation into potential abuse and neglect. Matt and Foggy had defended them furiously, but Peter's own troubled history with the system came back to bite him. He could tell they wanted to send him upstate and wash their hands of him, but were only going through the formalities because Victor and Rosa were fighting tooth and nail for him. Plus, they had lawyers with them.

He felt sick. Victor and Rosa were up to bat for him, but what would happen if the abuse and neglect allegations were substantiated? Peter imagined the other kids would get taken from Victor and Rosa too; they might even lose their foster license. He could possibly destroy this family, all because he told his social worker he'd been assaulted by a teacher. Then he went and made it worse by getting his ass kicked by Green Goblin just a few hours shy of a very important meeting. No matter how much he insisted he'd fallen down the stairs, they wanted to draw their own conclusions. 

He sat in the back of Victor and Rosa’s van for, probably, the last time as they drove home. Matt and Foggy rode with them. Two social workers tailed their van in a shitty lemon that would take Peter away from the first shred of domestic happiness he'd felt since his aunt and uncle died.

The dingy roof of the van wasn't a decent enough distraction. Neither was the passing scenery or the back of the adults' heads. Hell, that just made him feel worse. There were four adults in front of him, all of whom fought fiercely to keep him in the Vasquez house, and yet… it meant nothing. Guilt and disappointment in himself slithered up his spinal cord as the drive continued, the first emotion to break through the static numbness he'd sat in since the meeting. Maybe if he just… wasn't himself, everything would've been okay. If he'd just shut up and stayed still he could've ended up in a home as good as the Vasquez's. Or he'd be dead.

At this point, it didn't seem like the worst option… 

No. He can't. As tempting as it was to leave his bullshit existence behind, he feared his aunt and uncle's sadness upon seeing him again so soon, in case there really was some kind of afterlife.

But maybe he could do it a different way… 

Maybe he could kill Peter Parker while remaining naive to the existence of an afterlife. He didn't really want to run away again; he liked it here. But if it meant Victor and Rosa could keep the rest of their kids, it was a sacrifice he was willing to make, especially as he started to establish his superhero identity more and more. 

He could do it. 

He knew what was expected of him. He'd go upstairs and pack up his meager belongings to go spend a few nights in the DCFS offices. Instead, he'd just leave. He was well versed in climbing through his bedroom window by this point so it would be no trouble at all. After that… well he'd figure it out. He was different now. He wasn't a scared, weak, asthmatic kid anymore. He was fucking Spider-Man and he could make it on his own. 

Peter ran through his plan several times as Victor pulled the van into the driveway, the social workers pulled up beside them. All of them got out of the car, the atmosphere tense despite the open air, and made their way to the front door. 

“Go pack you–” Charlise started, the other social worker that Peter didn't know stood beside her. 

“I know.” Peter interrupted her, his words short and snappy. He knew exactly what to do. He just wasn't going to do it, but they didn't need to know that.

Chapter Text

The Vasquez house was a cacophony of sounds; arguing, begging, and the youngest girl crying. Despite the chaos, which started to give Matt a headache, he could still hear Peter upstairs. He heard the boy throwing clothes into a bag rather quickly, not at all the speed of someone who was unhappy with the situation. And then he heard it, the second story window opened and Peter's heartbeat left the house. Shit. 

He placed his hand on Foggy’s shoulder. “I'll be back,” he said quietly so as to not interrupt the several other overlapping conversations. Foggy took it well, already used to Matt leaving him hung out to dry.

Matt quickly slipped out the front door. He followed the sound of Peter’s heartbeat for a few blocks, it was easy to identify since the boy was traveling via rooftops. He heard Peter stop on top of a bodega. Matt ducked into a nearby alley while folding up his cane. He used some dumpsters to boost himself onto the same roof as Peter.

“Stop following me,” Peter said the second Matt cleared the rooftop. He sat near the edge with his legs pulled up to his chest and his back towards Matt.

“Peter-” Matt started, but Peter was quick to interrupt him. 

“Just leave me alone!”

Matt sighed. He had to choose his words carefully; thankfully that was a prerequisite of his day job. “You're making a mistake.” Okay, so maybe that wasn't exactly careful, but he knew what he was doing.

Peter let out a scoff that turned into a few unenthusiastic barks of laughter. “What else is new?” His words were bitter. 

“You can't just run from your problems.”

“Why not?” Peter turned to face Matt, “I've done it before.”

“And how has that worked out for you, hmm?”

Peter stood up quickly. Despite Matt's lack of sight, he knew Peter was glaring at him. “It's different now. I have powers. I can take care of myself better than I ever could before. I can be Spider-Man full-time and actually do something with my life. I don't have to be another foster kid stuck in the system. I can get out .” Peter’s anger had turned to a plea for Matt to understand. And Matt did understand, maybe a little too well. But Matt couldn't let Peter ruin his life like this.

“And what about Peter Parker?”

“He could die for all I care,” Peter said that quieter, but with a certain finality that concerned Matt. “What has being Peter ever got me? Pain? Abuse? Heartache? Not worth it.”

“You think being a vigilante is any different? Is any easier? Look at you now. You have powers, sure, but you're not invincible.”

Peter turned back around, but didn't leave. “Shuddup,” he mumbled; Matt heard him clear as day.

“You got shot last night, you think that's the worst that can happen to you?”

“I got shot saving you ,” Peter's voice was as low as the boy could make it. Matt assumed it was an attempt at bitterness that didn't quite land.

“Yeah, and I know you'd do it again,” Matt walked towards Peter slowly, taking his time between each step in case the kid fled. But Peter didn't move a muscle. “That's what makes you a great hero. Whether it was me or a random civilian, you'd act selflessly.” Matt stepped right next to Peter. “But it's bad out there. You see the worst of people everyday and they will do anything to kill you. Being a hero twenty-four-seven… it changes you. And not in a good way. You become more cynical, more closed off. You get lonely…” Matt was speaking from personal experience. “It seems like the better option, but it's not. Trust me.”

Peter was silent for a few long moments. Matt could practically hear Peter ruminating on his words. And Matt let him; he wanted the seriousness to really sink in. 

“They're gonna send me upstate…” Peter’s voice was barely above a whisper and thick with emotion. “They might send the rest away too.”

Matt pursed his lips in thought. Rosa had pleaded with him to save her patchwork family and get justice for her newest son. Last night, in Claire's apartment, the serious reality of such a stubborn, young hero acting alone was highlighted and he felt a certain drive to protect him. He couldn't give up and fail them both.

“You really want to stay with Rosa, right?”

Peter nodded, then immediately corrected himself and said, “yeah.” Matt considered reminding Peter that he could sense when someone nodded, but decided against it. 

“Then I won't let them take you.” Matt said with an air of finality.

“How?” Peter's tone was laced with confusion and uncertainty, but it held just a hint of hope. 

Matt blew out a puff of air, “well, a permanency hearing and a police report.” 

"For…" Peter prompted, his voice wary of an answer he already knew.

“You know what for.”

“No!”

“Peter. You need to report what happened to you,” Matt could hear Peter’s heart rate pick up considerably and he did his best to calm the boy down. “I'll go with you. I'll help you. But there needs to be an official record before we go in front of a judge.” 

He could feel Peter’s eyes on him with, what he imagined was, an incredibly distraught expression. But the boy didn't argue with him. 

“Now, please, go back. If they realize you're gone, well… that makes my job a whole lot harder.” 

Peter didn't respond right away. He took a few quiet moments before giving a soft, “okay.” 

Matt nodded. “Thank you,” he stepped away from Peter and towards the edge he’d climbed up. He listened to Peter grab his discarded bag as Matt began his climb back down. 

He made it back to the Vasquez house a few minutes later, his cane back out and playing its part as an assistive device. Peter had snuck back into his room just a bit before Matt reentered the house. 

The scene from before hadn't changed much in his absence. He slid up next to Foggy, who thankfully had been keeping the social workers busy while Matt went to stop Peter's run away attempt.

“This is ridiculous, Peter has stated multiple times he wants to stay here, the Vasquez’ want him here. There’s no reason to take him away.” Foggy argued. Unfortunately, his points hadn’t gotten better since Matt left.

“Please, Mr. Nelson, we’ve been over this. We’ve already wasted so much time here–”

“I wouldn’t call a child’s well-being a waste of time, Charlise. But then again, you do seem hell bent on doing the opposite.”

“Mr. Nelson–”

“We’d like to request a permanency hearing,” Matt spoke assertively over the chaos, gaining everyone’s attention. He and Foggy had looked into that route, but realized they couldn’t go through with it quick enough.

The social workers were quick to remind them why. “No, he hasn't been here long enough for that–”

“Then we’d like to bring the removal in front of a judge.”

He could practically hear the frown on the social workers faces. “It’d be pointless. They,” the worker gestured to Rosa and Victor, “have no rights over Peter. He is property of the state.” 

“Well, first you call this a waste of time, now you’re calling him property. Why don’t you repeat that in front of the judge?” Foggy asked sarcastically.

“We’d like a court date,” Matt reiterated his point. 

“You can't be serious.”

“Completely,” Matt shrugged, “You've seen his residence, heard several testimonies regarding the benefits of the Vasquez’ guardianship over Peter.” 

“And failed to provide sufficient evidence as to why Peter should be removed,” Foggy added.

“If you continue to insist on that, and you want to do it today, then you'd have to use time and resources to house him–presumably in the OCFS offices–until his court date. Because we will be taking this to court.” Matt continued.

It was silent for a few beats as the social workers stared at Matt. That was until one lightly elbowed the other and whispered, “let's just go. We can come back.” 

“Not until after the hearing,” Matt interjected. He didn't want them to show up when neither Foggy nor Matt were here to try and take Peter. He was sure the other social worker rolled their eyes before responding. 

“Okay, okay! You have one week to submit your appeal. If it's not in, we’re taking him.”

Matt gave one curt nod, “fair enough.” It wasn't fair, but he was flying by the seat of his pants at the moment and would take what he could get. 

He wished the social workers a good day–he didn't mean it–as they left. When the front door closed behind them he let out a controlled breath. It worked. Thank God .

Again, it was silent, but the atmosphere was completely different this time around. It was a mix of shock, awe, and relief. The silence was interrupted by Freddy. 

“Holy shit.” That broke the tension

“Language,” Victor scolded, but it was drowned out in a sea of praise from all the kids. They’d never seen OCFS reverse a decision before, even if it was just temporarily. 

Rosa released a broken sob– not from sorrow, but overwhelming relief. It was somewhere between a laugh and a cry. In just a few quick strides she had closed the space between her and Matt and gave him a hug, sob-laughing the whole way. Should she have asked permission first? Yes, considering she was trying to teach Darla to do the same. But she didn't trust herself to say anything else other than a muffled, “thank you.” 

“Group hug!” Darla shouted, wasting no time in wrapping her arms as far around Matt and Rosa as she could. Slowly the other kids, sans Peter who was still upstairs, joined the group hug and Matt felt… overwhelmed. He was essentially fully surrounded, his arms pinned to his sides.

Victor placed a hand on Matt’s shoulder instead of joining the group hug. It was gentle, yet held a hint of warning to it. He was hugging the man's wife after all. 

“Stay for dinner?” Victor’s tone raised at the end to signal a question. But it wasn't a question by any means. “Both of you.”

Matt wanted to make some excuse. It wasn't that he didn't want to join them for dinner, it was just a lot. But Foggy answered for him. “We’d love to.”

Rosa sent Billy upstairs to fetch Peter so they could share the good news and begin preparing dinner. Matt and Foggy were made to sit in the living room while the family cooked and set the table, having to fetch two extra chairs to squeeze into the already crowded table. 

After about an hour dinner was served; a big pot of spaghetti with sauce and steamed vegetables.

“All hands on deck!” Victor said, starting the hand pile. Foggy and Matt seemed confused by the interaction, but followed along after the kids put their hands in; Foggy helped Matt, which was unnecessary but important to maintain his facade of a blind person without superpowers. “Thank you for this family, thank you for this day, thank you for this food, and thank you to our two guests.”

“ Ame -” Matt started quietly out of sheer habit, before realizing this was not a prayer and no one else was saying it.  

The spaghetti, sauce, and vegetables were all in different bowls in the middle of the table. Everyone began to make their plate except for Foggy, who grabbed Matt's plate to serve him first. 

“So, how long have you been together?” Rosa asked as she finished scooping sauce over her noodles. 

“About three years,” Matt answered.

Foggy paused, “Well, if you count the time from before the Punisher case…”

“I wasn’t. You were with Hogarth for like a year. I don’t think it should count.”

Foggy considered it, then shrugged, “In that case, then yeah, three years.” Foggy set Matt’s plate in front of him, a decent portion of spaghetti and vegetables on the plate. Then Foggy grabbed his own plate and served himself. 

“I see,” Rosa said with a light hum in her voice, “but you were friends before, right?”

“Yeah, I mean we were roommates in college,” Foggy said with a shrug. He finished scooping vegetables onto his plate. He definitely went heavier on the spaghetti. 

“Where'd you go to college?” Mary jumped in.

“Columbia Law,” Matt answered. The older members of the Vasquez clan looked and sounded impressed, the younger ones didn't understand the prestige of that school.

“Yeah,” Foggy said, leaning into the table excitedly, “and Matt here graduated magna cum laude. ” Foggy gestured at Matt with his fork. Mary, Victor, and Rosa were the only ones who understood what an achievement that was. 

“What does that mean?” Darla asked. Before the adults could think of an answer, Freddy jumped in. 

“Is he allowed to say that at the table? Sounds inappropriate to me.”

Billy guffawed and nearly spit out the food he was chewing. He had to cover his mouth and hide his face while he let out his laughter. Peter and Eugene also let out little chuckles. Their minds were clearly in the same place as Freddy's, but they had enough tact to keep those thoughts inside. Even Victor, who fully understood what magna cum laude actually meant, bit his lip to maintain his composure. Matt and Foggy didn't fare much better either. They both snorted and failed to keep smiles off their faces. 

Only the girls and Pedro didn't laugh. Rosa because it was inappropriate, Mary because she wasn’t immature, Darla because she didn't understand, and Pedro because he hadn't been paying attention to the conversation.

“It means he worked really hard and got really good grades,” Mary answered while Rosa tried to stop her giggly boys. 

“Ooh,” Darla said, but there was still a hint of confusion in her tone. She didn't get what was so funny. “Well, good job Mr. Lawyer!” 

That did not help calm the laughter at all. Foggy put his hand then forehead on Matt's shoulder as support while his own shoulders shook from stifled laughter. Matt had calmed himself by now, but couldn't help the dopey smile on his face. 

"Well thank you, Darla. But you can just call me Matt.”

“Okie dokie!” Darla said, giving Matt a thumbs up. 

While Mary turned to Darla to quietly explain that Matt couldn't see, Freddy spoke, “she's giving you a thumbs up.”

That got Foggy to straighten up. He was usually Matt's eyes; it was mostly unnecessary with Matt's radar sense, but most of them didn't know that. Foggy cleared his throat, finally rid of the giggles. “I'm Franklin, but most people call me Foggy.”

With the ice broken, the table descended into slightly more chaos than was usual for Saturday night dinner. The kids had a lot of questions, but lacked enough patience to wait for an answer. Instead they asked a series of, not always appropriate, questions practically all at once:

“So, like, how blind are you?”

“Freddy!”

“Why do people call you Foggy?”

“How old are you?”

“What was the Punisher case?”

“Where did you get your sunglasses?”

“They are not sunglasses,” Rosa corrected. 

“Are you ever gonna adopt?”

“How d'you know when you're done wiping your butt?”

“Freddy, stop! ”

“Okay!” Victor spoke loudly so as to be heard over the myriad of overlapping voices. “That’s enough!”

“I have one more,” Rosa said after the chaos died down, “if you met in college, how long did it take–”

“Rosa, please , stop interrogating our guests,” Victor interrupted, begging for a second of peace and quiet.  

Rosa gave a small, playful pout, “c’mon. I haven't seen Matt in… how long has it been? Twenty years now? Since we were kids.”

“Wait,” Mary said slowly, coming to a realization, “you knew each other as kids?” 

“Mhmm,” Rosa hummed affirmatively, a coy smile on her face. “We were in a foster home together.” 

That got every kid's attention. “You were a foster kid?” Peter asked, all the advice Matt had given him gaining a new light. 

“Yup,” Matt confirmed. But it was quickly drowned out by Foggy. 

“That's right! You still have to tell me all his embarrassing childhood stories!” 

Matt groaned loudly. He knew Foggy wouldn't let it go. “No, you don't.”

“You and Rosa were brother and sister?!” Darla’s voice was filled with excitement. 

“For a little while, we were foster siblings, yes,” Matt said. 

“That makes you our uncle!”

“Well–” Matt started, but Freddy interrupted him. 

“ Foster uncle.”

Darla shook her head. “No. No foster. Only family. He's our uncle!” Her attention turned back to Matt, “I've always wanted an uncle.”

Matt couldn't say anything to refute that. It wasn't like he wanted to anyway. Foggy, who was absolutely loving this interaction, had younger relatives that called him Uncle Matt, so it wasn't that unfamiliar. Instead Matt just shrugged and spoke with a warm smile, “yeah, I guess you're right.”

Barely a second later Foggy spoke with a huge, shit-eating grin, “so, those stories about a young Uncle Matt.”

Chapter Text

Thankfully, the revelation of Matt's orphan status over dinner brought along more questions from the kids, posed in a similar way as before; all at once, which left no room for Rosa to actually tell any embarrassing stories from Matt's youth. Much to the chagrin of Foggy. Victor gave up on trying to corral his children. 

Dinner continued as such; a chaotic series of nearly unanswerable questions asked between bites of food. It was nice, if not overwhelming. Foggy handled the mayhem better than Matt, considering his family get-togethers weren't much different.

Near the end of dinner, when most people were merely picking at the remnants on their plates while chatting, Matt felt his phone buzz. 

“Claire Tem-ple. Claire Tem-ple.”

Matt pulled the phone out of his pocket as he stood. “Give me a moment,” he said casually before grabbing his cane and walking to the front door. He answered the call before he made it outside. The last thing the table heard from Matt was, “hey, gimme a sec,” before the door shut behind him. 

“I have to go to the bathroom,” Peter said as he stood up. He didn't ask, so he didn't wait for permission to leave the table. He just hurried upstairs and into the bathroom. Billy and Freddy exchanged a glance, desperate to know why Claire was calling Matt. 

“I think I'm done,” Billy said, grabbing his plate and standing up. 

“Yeah, me too,” Freddy said, doing the same. Just like Peter they didn't wait, instead they quickly hurried off to the kitchen where they deposited their plates in the sink before slipping out to the backyard unseen. 

Rosa and Victor just blinked confusedly, taken off guard by the sudden departure of one of their guests and three of their children.

Peter hadn't actually needed to use the bathroom. He climbed through the bathroom window and stuck himself to the side of the house. He crawled his way towards the front where he could eavesdrop on Matt's conversation out of sight. Well, he guessed he was always out of Matt's sight, technically. 

He could just barely hear Claire's voice from the phone's speaker. Not enough to catch every word, but enough to get a gist of the conversation. "Yeah — don't really wanna talk — over the phone."

He heard Matt sigh. "Sure. Look, I'm with a client, so I can't leave now. Maybe I can stop by your place later?"

" — works. I've got — hours left — my shift — should be home by—"

A quiet rustling from beneath him pulled his focus. He looked down and saw Billy and Freddy posted up behind the backyard fence, trying to eavesdrop on Matt's conversation as well. The only problem?

“I can't hear anything,” Freddy whispered, for which Billy immediately shushed him. 

Peter rolled his eyes. He knew that Matt’s hearing was too good to not know what they were doing. So Peter released his sticky grip on the wall and landed next to his foster brothers as quietly as he could. If their cover hadn't already been blown, it was now; both Billy and Freddy let out quiet yelps at Peter's sudden appearance. 

Freddy put a hand over his heart, “my God, dude, we need to put a bell on you or something,” he whispered, but only barely.

“What are you doing?” Peter whispered.

“I could ask you the same thing,” Freddy retorted.

“Hey guys…” Billy said, not in a whisper. He was looking above the fence. 

“I could ask you all the same thing,” Matt said, leaning a bit over the fence. Peter and Freddy's heads whipped around to look at Matt before he spoke again. “It's not very nice to eavesdrop.”

“ Eavesdrop ?! Psshaw ! I would never ,” Freddy said, waving his hand dismissively. 

Matt hummed disbelievingly with a frown on his face. He stepped away from the fence, "come here. All of you.”

With tails tucked between their legs, the three teenage boys obliged. Peter hopped the fence while Billy and Freddy unlatched the gate and walked through it. 

Peter spoke up before Matt could interrogate them. “Why did Claire call?” He had heard bits and pieces of their conversation, but not enough to fully understand. 

Matt's mouth formed a thin line as he thought over what to tell Peter. “Later,” he said, curt and definitive. it was clear he wasn't happy with Peter. But he was less happy with Billy and Freddy. “How much do they know?” He asked, his question directed at Peter in reference to Billy and Freddy.

That question, however, was a lot more complicated than Matt knew. 

“Well, er…” Peter started, but Freddy jumped in shortly after.

“We can speak for ourselves, ya'know.”

“So then explain yourselves,” Matt's tone was sharp and instantly cowed Freddy. 

“Wh- what d'you mean?”

“I heard you. My first visit. You two were talking about me. About what you know. How?” It was a question, but not through intonation. Matt kept his voice low and level. 

Billy and Freddy’s eyes darted between each other and Peter nervously, unsure how to answer. So Peter jumped in. 

“They're the idiots,” Peter said, his words coming out all at once. 

“What?” Matt said, his imposing demeanor faltering a bit from confusion. 

“Hey!” Both Billy and Freddy exclaimed, taking offense to being called idiots. 

“The idiots. My idiots.” Peter reiterated. 

Slowly, Matt's confusion gave way to disbelief. He understood what Peter was saying, at least he thought he did, but that couldn't be true. Right? “No… no, that can't–”

“Do it,” Peter interrupted, looking at Billy at Freddy. “Change. Shazam.” 

Billy and Freddy looked at each other once more, debating whether they should through their facial expressions. Their exchange lasted for only a few seconds before Billy shrugged and shouted, “ SHAZAM .” Freddy did the same right after.

In quick succession, two lightning bolts shot down from the heavens above and hit Billy and Freddy. Matt, who had been taken completely off guard, practically lept several feet back to avoid said lightning. The acrid smell of smoke filled his nostrils and he could taste the tang of scattered electricity on his tongue. 

In that same instance, Billy and Freddy’s heartbeats disappeared. For a millisecond he thought they must've died, but he didn't smell burning flesh and hair, just smoke. And there were two new heartbeats where Billy and Freddy once stood. No, not new. The rhythms were similar to Billy and Freddy’s, but stronger. He recognized them from elsewhere. 

As he regathered his bearings, after nearly having the shit scared out of him, he realized who the heartbeats belonged to. No. Dear God no. They really were the idiots. Matt just stood there shell-shocked for several seconds. This couldn't actually be happening. He tilted his head toward Peter, still in utter disbelief. “ What? ”

“Yeah, same,” Peter said, completely understanding Matt's shock. 

Matt ran a hand down his face, his mind abuzz with all the interactions he’d had with the two dumbass heroes in front of him. In some ways, it actually made more sense like this. He didn't want to believe two grown adult heroes would act so childish; being teenagers was a silver-lining at least. If they actually were teenagers. He was tempted to ask, but realized he didn't need to. They were definitely teenage boys. 

“This a good enough explanation for you?” Freddy said. He gestured to himself and Billy. 

Matt had an expression of slight disgust on his face. “No,” he said curtly. Freddy scoffed, but Matt spoke over it, “do Victor and Rosa know?” 

The look of teenage indignation on Freddy’s face fell immediately. 

“No,” Billy answered instead. “And please don't tell them.”

Matt wanted to scream. 

“Same for me,” Peter added quietly. He'd kind of run with the assumption that Matt wouldn't mention his heroing to Victor and Rosa, but he wasn't so sure anymore. “Please don't tell.”

“Peter,” Matt said, his voice tense. He pinched the bridge of his nose, “not right now.” 

“Do Victor and Rosa know about you ?” Billy countered. 

Matt's eyebrows furrowed, not in confusion but in irritation. “That… is not the point.”

“Ehh, it kinda is,” Freddy added, “you're pretty much Rosa’s little brother.”

“I am not,” Matt said. He wouldn't argue against it with Darla, but the others were fair game. “We hadn't spoken for years before this.” 

“Doesn't matter,” Freddy crossed his arms and shrugged. “You're part of the family now.”

“Yeah,” Billy said, “if you tattle on us, we tattle on you.” 

Matt glared at them. What the fuck was happening right now? “Is that a threat?” Matt had his own threat hidden in his tone. 

“No,” Billy said. His nervous voice betrayed his faux bravado as he repeated a line he’d clearly heard in a movie. “It's a promise.”

Matt's expression turned incredulous from the sheer buffoonery of the entire situation. Freddy placed a hand on Billy’s shoulder. 

“Alright, cool it tough guy,” Freddy played into Billy’s bluster, pretending to reign his foster brother in. Similarly, his voice betrayed his faux nonchalance. “Don't wanna hurt Pete’s lawyer.” He laughed awkwardly.

Peter watched the interaction, dumbfounded. “Is this how you guys always act around him?”

“ Yes ,” Matt said with relief that someone else understood what he'd been dealing with. 

“Hey! What’s that supposed to mean?!” Freddy exclaimed, but it went ignored.

“So,” Peter started, remembering why they were eavesdropping in the first place, “what were you talking to Cl-”

Matt held his palm out, stopping Peter in his tracks. He cocked his head slightly and aimed an ear at the door. “Someone’s coming,” Matt said. He could tell it was Foggy, but they didn't need to know that. And Foggy didn't need to see the two superheroes standing in the Vasquez' yard either. “Go.” 

The three teenagers left to the backyard quickly but begrudgingly. This time they all hopped the fence and disappeared behind the house, right as Foggy opened the front door. 

“Oh thank God, ” Foggy said, relief clear in his tone. He stepped out of the house and approached Matt. “I was worried you took off and I’d have to cover for you.” 

Matt placed a hand over his heart and feigned offense. “Cover? For me? Never .”

“Literally always,” Foggy chuckled. “Why'd she call by the way? Hobby stuff?”

Before Matt could answer, two lightning bolts shot down from the sky and struck the backyard. Foggy jumped and looked around wildly, mostly at the sky, in search of where the hell they came from. Obviously from above, but there was hardly a cloud in the sky. 

“What the…” Foggy trailed off, so Matt took the opportunity to answer. 

“Yeah, hobby stuff. I asked her to look into something for me. The results finally came back.”

Foggy hummed in response, but there was a hint of disapproval in his tone. Alongside his fast fading confusion from the random lightning. It was New York, weirder things have happened. “Right… you're still on probation though. Set up by Claire.” 

Matt chuckled dismissively at Foggy’s concern. “Yeah, yeah, I know. I'm just going there to talk.”

“Good,” Foggy said, before quickly adding, “not right now though, right? You can't just Irish goodbye them, at least not the little one.”

Matt chuckled even more. “No, her shift doesn't end for a few more hours. I'll head over when she's off. C’mon.” And together they reentered the Vasquez’ house to finish dinner and say their goodbyes.

“He’s gonna talk to Claire tonight,” Peter whispered to his foster brothers. Matt and Foggy had left hours ago and most of the house had settled into bed by now; they had to keep their voices low if they wanted it to stay that way. 

“Cool, so we go to Claire's and ask him what he's hiding from us.” Freddy said.

“How d’you know he's even hiding anything?” Billy countered. 

“Leaving the house for a phone call? Pretty suspicious.”

Billy shrugged, “I don't know. It might not involve us at all. He could be like… cheating on Foggy or something.”

Freddy gasped quietly, “how dare you.” He turned to Peter, “he could be though.”

Peter rolled his eyes. “Either way, we’re not going anywhere. I am. Alone.” 

“What? Why?” Freddy said, scandalized and a little too loud. Billy shushed him. 

“Several reasons,” Peter started. “You guys annoy him, and Claire, plus you're bad at sneaking out.”

If Freddy wasn't scandalized before, he definitely was now. “We can totally sneak out no problem, thank you very much.”

Peter stared at him with a deadpan expression. “You have to use the door.”

“So?”

“I sneak out, practically every night, and you haven't noticed. And I share a room with you.”

Freddy, and Billy’s, expressions turned into shock. “Really?”

“Really.”

“Well,” Freddy said, trying to find any excuse to join Peter, “you're still hurt.”

Peter rolled his eyes, “barely.” He rolled up his loose pants leg to show off his thigh. He had removed the bandages earlier to reveal an ugly scar and some minor bruising, but the wound was closed. He also flashed his wrist, which was in a similar state. 

“But… your costume?” Freddy said, grasping at straws. Billy just shook his head, having already accepted staying home. 

“They were old sweats, dude.” Yeah, he was upset his costume had been destroyed, but it wasn’t anything special. His pajamas–which were all black sweats–would do just fine. The biggest loss was one of his webshooters, but he wouldn't mention that. He didn't want to give Freddy any reason to tag along.

Peter grabbed a shirt to tie around his face. Freddy tried one more time. “But-”

“Dude,” Billy said, “just leave it.”

Freddy shrunk down, pouting like a child. Well, an even younger child. 

“Don't worry,” Peter said, approaching the window, “I'll tell you what I find out.” With that, Peter opened the window and slipped out into the cold night air.

Chapter Text

"Wow. Coming in through the front door. Must be a special occasion," Claire teased as she opened her apartment door for Matt. 

"You know I live to impress," Matt smiled as he followed her into the apartment. 

Claire scoffed as she closed the door. "Could've fooled me. You're the one who keeps ripping your stitches by climbing up the fire escape," She continued as she went to her bag, reaching in to grab something. "If I didn't know any better, I'd say you do it on purpose just to end up here again."

Matt shrugged, with a smile. "Maybe I just like the company."

"Yeah, I bet you do. Here," she held a folded piece of paper to him. "The guys from the lab couldn't tell for sure what it was, but they were able to pull a list of chemicals from it. Better than nothing."

Matt didn't take the paper from her, shrugging instead. "You know I have issues with reading print, right?"

Claire sighed, "What, so you want me to read it out to you?"

"That would be nice."

"Can't you ask someone else?"

"I don't want anyone else getting involved. Besides, I like listening to your voice." That got a laugh out of her. Matt took it as a good sign. "Come on, I came through the front door and everything."

Claire sighed again, unfolding the paper as she took a seat on her couch. Matt followed as she began reading through the list.

It was damn near incomprehensible.

“This wasn't nearly as helpful as I thought it might be,” Matt said, frowning. “And you're sure there's nothing else you recognize from it?”

Even though Matt couldn't see Claire's expression, she looked at him with annoyance. But she sighed and answered anyway. “Nope. Just the stimulants, filler, and DNA for some weird reason. The rest is… Greek to me.”

There were at least fifteen other chemicals listed on the sheet of paper, alongside a few unknowns. Claire had to read it aloud since Matt was blind; a braille copy of the long, complex chemical names would've taken up a small notebook's worth of paper. And the hospital didn't have a braille printer. 

Going over it together did nothing to help the fact they couldn't understand it.

"What exactly were you hoping to get out of this?” Claire asked, the realization that Matt knew fuck-all about chemistry hitting her. 

Matt shrugged, “I don’t know… I guess I was just hoping something useful would come out of it. Or at least that it could tell you something.”

“Oh, so you wanted me to figure it out?” Claire asked, her annoyance very obvious from her tone. She'd had a long day; three different patients vomited on her before her first break. She'd just finished scrubbing the sensation of several different bodily fluids off her. She just wanted to go to bed, not figure out the evil plans of some super villain.

“No, I just— I just thought this was more of your expertise,” Matt answered defensively. “Look, is there any chance you can help me figure it out? It could help me stop this guy. I promise I’ll make it up to you.”

Claire sighed and ran her hands through her hair. She kept getting dragged into this. Why did she keep getting dragged into this? She looked at Matt again, who was looking as lost as he could be, which made enough sense; he was a lawyer, not a chemist.

“Fuck, fine. I guess I can do some research and see what I can find out. And you better make it up to me.”

Matt smiled, “with interest.” Then his smile gave way to a frown as he cocked his ear to the window, “we have a visitor.” 

Claire frowned, filled with dread at who it could possibly be as she watched Matt fully turn to the fire escape. If they were coming to the window… Oh god she hoped it wasn't the idiots.

Claire opened her mouth to ask who this ‘visitor’ was, when a figure decked out in all black landed on her fire escape. She had no idea who they were, but if Matt was calm then it meant they were fine. Probably. 

She watched as the figure approached her window to open it. “Who the hell-”

“It's Peter,” Matt said before she could finish. He stood up and opened the window for the young vigilante. It was locked since Matt had come through the door like a regular person.

While Claire preferred Peter's presence over the two idiots, it made her nervous. She had pulled a bullet out of his leg and shrapnel out of his wrist less than twenty-four hours ago. The last thing she told him was to come back if he needed help. 

She didn't like that he was back already.

“What're you doing here?” Matt voiced Claire's thoughts, his demeanor stern, as Peter slipped through the window. 

“Straight to the point…” Peter mumbled. He took off his mask before speaking again. “We… I want to know what you're hiding.” 

Matt stood in front of Peter, his arms crossed and posture tight with restrained irritation. Several seconds of tense silence passed between them. 

Matt broke the silence with another pointed question. “How did you get here?”

Peter held up his right arm, it held his one remaining webshooter on his wrist. “I swung,” he said, then turned to Claire in his own defense. “My right arm is all good, and I'm starting to feel much better. I didn't even fight anyone, I came straight here–”

“To snoop.” Matt added immediately. 

"No! …To ask outright.” Peter said the last part softer. 

“So then ask,” Matt challenged, to which Peter just seemed confused. 

“I… did?” 

“You haven't asked a single question since you got here.”

It finally clicked in Peter's head and Matt could practically hear the teen roll their eyes. Peter mumbled a quick, “smartass,” under his breath, despite knowing Matt could hear it clearly. The tiniest of smirks appeared on Matt's lips from his display of teenage attitude. Finally, Peter asked his question. “Why'd Claire call you?”

Matt didn't answer right away. He seemed to think through something, although whatever conclusion he came to clearly didn't make him happy. “You know chemistry, right?”

Peter's head jolted back and his eyebrows scrunched up, as if that was the most audacious question Matt could've asked. Also from conversational whiplash. “Uh, yeah . I'd say I know it pretty well. Kinda made my own biopolymer modelled after spider silk, so…”

“Give him the paper,” Matt directed at Claire. 

Now it was Claire's turn to be taken aback. “The twelve year old?”

“Hey! I'm fifteen!” Claire shot Peter a glare that cowed him immediately. The boy mumbled, “sorry ma’am.”

“Just… give it,” Matt reiterated. He pinched the bridge of his nose to fight off a growing headache. He had a feeling this would work, but didn't want to be proven right. 

Claire did just that, slowly handing the chemical analysis over to Peter. While the child looked through the long string of chemical names and percentages, she pulled Matt off to the side. 

“The kid, really ?” She whispered. 

"He's good at chemistry.” 

“Yeah, probably chemical equations and drawing the little octagons. But this– this is different. It's–”

“Holy shit,” Peter said, his eyes darting around the paper. “What is this?”

“See,” Claire started, but Matt stopped her. 

“What do you think it is?”

Peter's eyes never left the paper as he spoke, “I mean, it's obviously some kinda… gene editor. Almost like CRISPR, but on steroids… Freaking, somatotropin is in here! That's insane. I've never seen anything with it.” Then, Peter seemed to remember that somatotropin wasn't a household name, so he added, “that's human growth hormone by the way.” Peter continued to scan and rescan the list, when the realization of what it was hit him like a ton of bricks. “Wait a minute…” he looked up at Matt and Claire, “this is the stuff Green Goblin and Sivana were working on, isn't it?” 

“Bingo,” Matt confirmed, the smallest hint of a proud smirk on his lips. Claire, on the other hand, was in shock that Peter had worked it all out by himself. 

“That’s… bad. Like really bad…” Peter said, and Matt's miniscule smile disappeared. “The compound, it's really unstable as it is. I mean, it'll destroy huge chunks of someone's DNA on the off chance that the DNA embedded in the dead virus will replace it. But it isn't guaranteed.”

“How did you…?” Claire started to ask, gobsmacked that Peter could gather that much from an incomplete chemical analysis. 

“I'm making an educated guess,” Peter finally looked up from the paper. “I can't know for sure based only on this. We'd have to sequence it to figure out what exactly this is supposed to change. And that's not really my forte. But maybe we could analyze it again with specifics in mind… Do you have the vial?”

Claire shook her head, “nope. They wouldn't return whatever was left. Said it was too dangerous so they destroyed it.”

Peter cursed quietly under his breath. “I can't blame them… it has radioactive isotopes.” He pursed his lips and furrowed his brow. “Maybe we could get m–”

“No,” Matt interrupted, his tone stern. He already knew what Peter was thinking, and he wouldn't let the boy endanger himself like that.

"What? I didn't even get to finish my thought,” Peter complained. 

“You didn't need to for me to know it's a bad idea.”

What Peter was going to say fully clicked for Claire, “you wanted to find more, didn't you?”

Peter didn't have to answer. He just pursed his lips, differently from before, and looked down and away. He was the epitome of cheeky, teenage, guilt. 

“Absolutely not,” Claire was firmly on Matt's side with this. “If you even think about–”

“Okay, okay!” Peter placated, his hands raised in surrender. “ Geez , I was just spitballing.”

“Well don't,” Claire said sharply. Matt couldn't hide his amused smirk. “Give me back the paper,” she held her hand out expectantly. 

Peter held the paper against his chest protectively. “Can't I keep it? I know more about it than you.”

Claire cocked her head, raised her eyebrows, and blinked slowly a few times. What the fuck did this kid just say? 

Peter, who realized how rude it was to say that only after he said it, began stammering to cover his own ass. “I mean, like, I can- can read it. You probably– you can read it too. But- but–”

“Just, shut up,” she pinched the bridge of her nose. She was too tired for this. “It's his case, ask him.” She gestured to Matt with her other hand.

Peter only got as far as opening his mouth before Matt posed his own question. “You really understand it?”

“Yeah, well, most of it. I need to research a few of the chemicals, but that's why I wanna keep it.”

“Then I don't see why not.”

Claire turned to Matt and poked him in the chest, "don't let him do anything stupid.”

Matt grimaced. Not from the poke, he barely felt that, but from Claire's request. "That's… a big ask.”

“If he comes back here hurt because of all this, it'll be your ass. Understood?” Claire said quieter and through gritted teeth. 

“Understood,” Matt confirmed, knowing damn well that he had no control over Peter's bad decision making. But he was willing to take on Claire's wrath if it meant he might get some answers about Green Goblin. 

“Good. Now get out so I can go to bed.” 

“Yes ma’am,” Peter said then started towards the window. 

“What are you doing?” Claire's tone was exasperated. 

“I thought…” Peter pointed between himself and the window, “no costumes through the door.” 

“Peter… you're wearing sweats. Just go with Matt…” 

Peter ducked his head sheepishly and changed directions to the front door, passing by Matt as he went.

Matt opened his mouth as if he was about to say something, but thought better of it. Instead, he followed Peter to the door, but stopped to turn to Claire before going through it.

"Thanks for the help," he told her.

"Yeah, you keep saying that."

"And I mean it every time," he chuckled. "I'll still make it up to you, I promise."

Claire scoffed. "Well, if you're gonna start now, I've got a pretty big list of things you could make up for."

"Sure, you can read it out to me next time."

Claire had to fight back a smile. She was not about to give Matt the satisfaction, even if he couldn't see it. "Yeah, I'll hold you to that."

"Just so we're clear..." Matt started as he and Peter walked out of the building and continued along the sidewalk. "You're not using that paper to try and recreate the stuff in that vial to try and figure out more about it, right? 'Cause that's not a loophole you're allowed to jump through either."

Peter pulled a disgusted face, horrified by that suggestion. “I wouldn't even know where to get somatotropin. Or the DNA. Well, I could get DNA, just not… whatever this DNA is.” He patted the pocket that held the folded up chemical analysis. “I just- I wanna figure it out.”

"Okay, good, just... making sure." Matt didn't actually think that was Peter's plan, but he had to check. Rosa would kill him if her son got hurt trying to recreate an extremely dangerous serum. "We'll have enough to worry about whenever Green Goblin decides to attack with it, we don't need to add more fuel to that fire."

Peter cocked his head just slightly, considering Matt's words. “Attack with it…” he muttered to himself with a questioning inflection. “You think it's a chemical weapon?” His tone wasn't disparaging, just confused. 

"Yeah, that's what I figured, from what you said," Matt shrugged. "Why, do you have any other theories?" It was a genuine question. Peter clearly understood the contents of the vial better than him. If the kid thought there was another explanation, Matt was all ears.

But Peter seemed conflicted, in the simplest sense of the word. He let out a small hum, his face screwed up in thought, before giving a quiet, “I'm… not sure.” It felt like the boy was holding something back and while Matt wanted to know, he didn't want to push him. 

There was a brief pause then Peter spoke again, changing the subject. “Ya'know, you don't have to follow me home. Don't you live in Hell's Kitchen or something?”

Matt huffed a small laugh through his nose. “Trust me, I'm not taking you all the way. But I'll go with you to the east river.” 

“Why?” Peter whined like a petulant child, “I got here just fine on my own.”

“Just to make sure you actually go straight home. Rosa would kill me if you got hurt making a stupid decision like, oh, I dunno, searching for a vial.”

Peter pouted, but accepted the concession. After another brief pause, Peter spoke again. “So… you were in foster care with Rosa?”

Matt nodded, "Yeah, for a few years after my dad died. Rosa helped me get settled," Which hadn't been an easy challenge. Matt hadn't been the easiest kid to deal with at first. "It was a decent home, I got lucky, all things considered.”

“Did you ever think about running away?” Peter asked, but his voice was unsure and timid. As if he was afraid of what the answer might be. “Like trying to make it on your own?” 

Matt took a deep breath, then let it out slowly. He never really talked about his time in foster care with anyone, not even Foggy. He'd get asked generic questions, then give generic answers. With Peter, an actual foster kid, that could never really be the case. He couldn't just lie. 

"Yeah, for a while," he finally answered after a pause. "A few months after I arrived, I met this old man, named Stick. He was blind like me. Heightened senses too, the whole ordeal. He taught me how to use them to my advantage, taught me how to fight... almost everything I know. I'd have to sneak out to meet him. My foster parents didn't really love it when I came back from my first training session with a ton of bruises, so they wouldn't let me meet him anymore. See, everyone at home kept dancing around me like I was made of glass, I hated that. Stick, he taught me how to take back control of my life. And… I always knew he'd have to leave eventually. He had something going on overseas that he was always very vague about, but I knew it involved fighting, protecting people. I wanted to go with him, help out. So I always thought, the second he'd go, I'd go. Things worked out differently though."

“You stayed,” Peter said, thinking it all through. “And now you're doing that here. Protecting people.” Peter paused and kicked a small pebble. “Do you regret it? Staying, I mean.” 

"No." Matt didn't even have to think about the answer. "If I hadn't, I wouldn't have met Foggy, wouldn't have become Daredevil. I was able to stay and help and protect people I know and care about. In court and in the streets." Plus, Stick's war had managed to find its way into New York anyway, so him staying hadn't made much of a difference in the grand scheme of things. He figured it was best to keep that part to himself. "You thought about running away, didn’t you? After you got your powers?" He knew Peter had a bit of a history of doing just that, so he was pretty sure it was a safe enough bet. “Why did you stay?”

The younger boy tensed, his shoulders hiking up just a bit. “It's pretty hard to be a homeless teenager.” There was more to it, his tone made that clear. So Matt waited for Peter to continue, which he eventually did. “I also… I like this family. And I wanna protect them.” He chuckled lightly to himself, “kinda dumb, I know, considering who my foster brothers are, but…” he shrugged dismissively before speaking again, this time far quieter, “bad luck tends to follow me.”

Matt had read Peter's file when he took on the case. The kid had lost his parents, then some years later his aunt and uncle and had been dragged around the foster system ever since. Then he finally settled with a good family and well... life found another way to bring him down. To say that bad luck followed him was pretty accurate. "Why put on a mask then? You don't really need one just to protect your family."

Peter didn't respond right away, but Matt could practically hear the thoughts buzzing around in his brain. So he waited for Peter to piece them together and gather the courage to speak. “The night I… after I was assaulted,” Peter started and Matt zoned in. That was the first time he'd heard Peter call it what it was, assault. “After I ran away… I- I heard someone call for help…”

“The mugging you stopped?” Matt clarified. He could tell Peter was struggling with his words. 

“Yeah,” Peter nodded, “but it- it wasn't just a mugging.” His voice grew a bit shaky. “It- he-”

“I understand.”

Peter took a breath. “If I had- hadn't been there… who knows what would've happened to that girl. But- but I stopped it. I helped her.” Peter clenched his jaw and squeezed his hands into fists, fighting an internal battle that Matt wasn't privy to. But he could make a guess; Peter had helped her, but couldn't help himself. 

"Yeah, I get it. You wanna keep doing it, help people because you can." It wasn't much different from Matt's own reasoning. "It's pretty noble, you know. And for what it's worth, you've been doing pretty good."

“Thanks,” Peter mumbled. There was no heart behind his words, like he didn't really believe them. “My, uh- my uncle used to have this saying, ‘with great power comes great responsibility’.” He lowered his voice to recite the quote, doing his best approximation of Ben's voice from his memories, then went back to speaking normally. “Don't think he ever meant this, but… I have powers, it's my responsibility to help.” 

"Sounds like a smart man. Just... be careful, Peter, okay? You can't help anyone if you're dead." That was rich coming from him. Matt was glad neither Foggy nor Claire were around to call out the irony. But it was different. Peter was just a kid, and was already carrying the weight of the world on his shoulders, before his powers even came into the picture.

Chapter Text

Peter always felt like his life moved pretty fast, but it seemed to shift gears over the next few days. The first thing Billy and Freddy did when they woke up Sunday morning was ask about why Matt went to Claire's. For a brief second Peter considered telling them the truth, but he realized… what would be the point? He didn't even recognize everything on the chemical analysis; there was no way Billy and Freddy could do anything with it. So he kept it to himself. Instead, he made up a quick little lie about Matt needing his stitches redone. Again. He felt a little bad about lying, but he didn't want his foster brothers getting excited, rushing off, and messing up the whole thing. This had to be handled with grace and tact– two things Billy and Freddy weren't known for.

Afterwards, once he was given some peace and quiet–barely, there were nine people in the house after all–he took a closer look at the chemical analysis. He looked through it over and over again. He highlighted all the chemicals he felt unfamiliar with and did an internet deepdive into each one. He often wound up on JSTOR and other scientific journal publishers. While his chemistry knowledge was advanced far beyond his age, many of the articles he could find–that weren't hidden behind a paywall–were so dense and fluffed up with academic jargon that he struggled to follow along. Why peer-reviewed articles needed ten pages to describe a single chemical reaction, he'd never understand. 

Even after going through dozens of obfuscated articles, he felt no better about the chemical analysis. Sure, he could kind of understand some of the chemical reactions better, but it couldn't help him figure out what was missing or what the DNA samples were. He really was stuck on this. Despite his brain begging for a different kind of stimulation hours into his research, he continued. Hoping beyond hope that he would find out something– anything! 

And… he kind of did. Not what he was looking for exactly, but interesting nonetheless. Quite a few scientific articles were sourced from, or referenced, Oscorp's biochemistry department. On one hand, that made sense; they were one of the leaders in biochemical engineering. On the other hand, they showed up an absurd amount. Damn near every article with–in Peter's opinion–questionable testing ethics mentioned Oscorp in some way, shape, or form. 

Oscorp seemed to pop up a lot outside of peer-reviewed studies and articles too. Blogs, newspaper articles, and other less reputable sources mentioned Oscorp when he searched up the uncommon chemicals identified. That set off alarm bells in Peter's head. Well, more like alarm chimes . Because he went to Oscorp, he got bit by an Oscorp spider, and he got super powers. In a way, he already knew Oscorp was doing some fucked up shit; spider bites shouldn't give someone powers. The venom from a spider bite might make someone sick, but even then most are harmless. Only a small handful of spiders out of the tens of thousands of different species produce a venom in enough quantities to be even remotely harmful to people. And yet a bite from an Oscorp spider had him knocking on death's door before rebounding into a fucking superhero. That. Shouldn't. Happen. 

But it did. Now he was Spider-Man. 

He reconsidered the serum as a whole, taking a more holistic approach. In a way it was similar to CRISPR. Gene editing. He had some understanding of it, but decided to research that as well as a refresher. It's essentially hijacking the immune systems of certain bacteria. When a bacterium is infected by a virus it copies the virus’ DNA, turns it to RNA, and that RNA is used to guide a CRISPER associated nuclease–also known as a Cas–to the viral DNA to cut it. Effectively destroying it. But RNA can be designed to target specific DNA sequences and template DNA can be added to guide cell proteins in homologous directed repair. Enabling someone to edit nearly any DNA sequence.

The only problem? It was unreliable. Mistakes happen. The Cas could cut the wrong sequence, the template DNA might not be used in the repair, and it was difficult to get Cas into a large number of cells at once. So there must be something else going on with the serum– with his spider bite. He just didn't know what.

Knock. Knock . There was a gentle rapping on his bedroom door. 

Peter closed his notebook and laptop as he was pulled from the world of biogenetic engineering. Where did the sun go? “Come in.” 

Victor opened the door and lazily leaned on the frame. “You okay? You've been up here all day.”

He had? He must've been really focused. “Oh, yeah. I'm fine. Just, uh… researching… stuff…”

Victor took in the sight of his teenage foster son sitting at his desk in front of a closed laptop, after having been in his room, alone, with the door closed, silent for several hours, and just nodded. “Cool, cool…” he cleared his throat, “did you decide what we're making for dinner tonight?”

Oh yeah. It was his turn to do dinner. He had completely forgotten about that. “Uh… pizza bagels?”

“Sounds good, let's get started.” Victor turned to leave before quickly saying, “wash your hands first!”

On Monday morning, Darla threw up. She stayed home when the other kids went to school and Rosa, who was off today anyway, stayed with her. However, that left Peter to travel to an important meeting alone. 

“Are you sure you'll be alright?” Rosa fretted over him several hours later, when it was time for him to leave.

“I'm sure,” Peter confirmed. He understood her concern, everything considered. 

“Alright,” she caved, “but keep me updated, okay? Text me when you meet with Mr. Murdock and when you're on your way home and… just be safe.” 

“I will, I promise.” 

Peter slung his prepacked bag over his shoulder and left the house. Despite his nonchalant disposition, he felt incredibly nervous. He was going to report Mr. Westcott to the police with Matt's help. 

Since he was traveling alone, he decided to skip the long bus and subway rides and swung most of the way to where he was meeting Matt. 

“Just you?” Matt asked upon his arrival.

“Eyup,” Peter confirmed.

“Good.” Peter didn't really understand why Matt said that, aside from the older man potentially wanting to talk about their shared late-night hobby. 

Together they made their way to the police station, discussing the best course of action to report Mr. Westcott as they went. When they arrived at the station and actually started the reporting process it all blurred together in Peter's mind. It almost felt like he wasn't present. But he was. He sat right beside Matt and spoke to an officer about what happened, yet he felt locked away in his own mind. As if he was hiding away from his own retelling. 

Still, making the report went… well. At least Peter thought so. Even better was that he did actually feel lighter, like a weight had been taken off him, rather than the impending doom he'd felt prior to making the report. At the same time, nothing of significance had changed. Nothing that would signal his mind and body to calm down and that the threat was over. Perhaps because it wasn't over just yet. He felt small beads of hope in his chest, but was hesitant to really feel it out of fear of disappointment.

“I have something for you,” Matt said after they had left the station. “It's in my office. C'mon.” Matt gestured with his head and started in the direction of Nelson and Murdock. 

Peter hesitated and then felt immediate shame for said hesitation. He knew, logically, that Matt wouldn't hurt him. He was actively helping put Mr. Westcott away for what he did, and yet Peter couldn't help but feel similarities to how Mr. Westcott had gotten him alone. It was entirely from having to explain it all to the police just a few minutes ago. That had ripped open his barely closed wound and allowed fresh blood to spill out.

Matt must've heard his heart rate increase and smelled the forming anxiety sweat on his skin, because he spoke again. “You'll also get to meet the other person working on your case, Karen Page. But it'll have to be quick, there are a few other cases I need to work on with her."

“Matt? Is that you?” A female voice shouted as the door to Nelson and Murdock opened. A thin, blonde woman stepped into the reception area, looking down at a few papers in her hand. “I found some more complaints about that slumlord, Jacobson, dating all the way back to twenty-fourteen. Piece of shit's been scamming people for- oh?!” She finally looked up and saw the child accompanying Matt. “Hello?”

Matt, with a small smirk on his face, gestured vaguely between Peter and Karen. “Karen, this is Peter. Peter, this is Karen, our investigator.” 

“Oh! You're Peter! Nice to meet you,” Karen said. She held out her hand, which Peter tentatively took and shook. 

“Nice… to meet you too?”

“I just have to say, Mary's been a god-send for your case. She has the potential to become a high-level investigator if she keeps this up.”

That… really confused Peter. When did Mary get involved in all this? 

“We'll discuss the complaints in a bit,” Matt said to Karen, “but, first, I need to talk to Peter in my office.” With that Matt started towards his office, Peter trailing just behind. He gave an awkward wave to Karen before disappearing behind the office door. 

“Why does she know Mary?” Peter asked in the privacy of Matt's office, his tone accusatory. 

Matt sighed as he walked around his desk. “She's helping us gather evidence.” Peter just blinked in disbelief, his brows furrowed. Matt elaborated. “To be honest, she came to us with evidence already. We didn't ask her to.”

Peter didn't really know how to feel about that. On one hand he didn't like Mary knowing and involving herself in his trauma. On the other hand, it was nice that someone cared enough to gather evidence on their own. 

Peter was pulled out of his internal conflict when Matt dropped an opaque plastic bag on the desk.

Peter feigned a shocked gasp, “a plastic bag? I thought these were banned!”

Matt rolled his eyes, but there was a small smile on his lips. “Look inside.”

Peter did just that. And this time he didn't have to fake any shock. “Is this…?”

“Yup. Take it out, see if you like it.”

From the bag Peter pulled out a professional looking red and blue suit emblazoned with a textured web design and spider symbol on the front. Peter stared at it in awe, nearly at a loss for words. 

“I didn't have your measurements so I had to guess. But the material’s stretchy so…” Matt shrugged. 

“How?” Peter asked, his voice breathy and quiet. 

“Do you think I make my own suits?” The question was rhetorical so Matt didn't give Peter time to answer. “No. I have a guy and he owes me a favor.”

“Still- that's- I-” Matt held up his hand to stop Peter's word vomit. 

“Besides, it's a Kevlar-spandex blend so it offers some protection. I'd much rather have you running around in this than those sweats you called a costume.” 

Peter lowered the suit and looked at Matt, his expression one of sincere gratitude that Matt couldn't see, but the boy was sure he could sense it somehow. “Thank you. Really, thank you.”

"Don't worry about it," Matt dismissed casually. "Don't think that's free though. It's yours under two conditions. One, you don't let this take over your life. You get to be Spider-Man, but you can't forget about Peter Parker. Foster kids already have to grow up way too fast as it is. You're with a good family though, you like them, and they definitely like you. So don't let being a hero get in the way of that. Understood?"

"Yeah. And the second?"

Matt smiled, knowing the second condition was an easier one to keep on his part. "You can't tell Claire I gave you this. Seriously. If she asks, make something up. She'd kill me if she knew I was encouraging you to be a vigilante.” There was a brief pause before Matt tacked on, “same goes for Rosa too, if she ever finds out. Deal?" Matt held out his hand for a handshake.

"Deal." Peter shook his hand, but Matt didn't let go right away. He held firm to get Peter's full attention and his demeanor became more serious.

“This also doesn't give you permission to make stupid decisions. It's more protective than your sweats, but it's not armor. You can and will get hurt. So be careful, Peter. Seriously. I don't want you to end up back on Claire's couch any time soon."

Peter had promised Matt he wouldn't look for another vial. And he wouldn't. He didn't really care about the actual vial all that much either. Sure, it'd be nice to have, but it wasn't like he had the equipment to chemically analyze it. What Matt never forbade him from, however, were the tunnels. 

He didn’t want to enter them by himself, not after what happened last time, so he stayed above ground. But he took some time during his late night patrols, dressed in his brand-new suit, to just watch. He perched up high and watched the subway entrance Sivana–and subsequently Matt and himself–had used. He stayed there for a few hours just watching for any signs of nefarious activity, but all he saw were… people. Regular New Yorkers going about their night. 

He even moved to other, nearby, subway entrances to see if they were using one of those to enter the tunnels. And nope. Nada. That was good. It was likely they'd moved on to somewhere else since their hiding spot had been compromised. He still didn't want to go down there alone, not when he had nearly invincible foster siblings he could drag along. He just had to pick the right one to take, and he had a feeling he knew who the best option would be.

Peter spent the next day working on his webshooters. He had to fully rebuild his left one and while the right one worked, he could make improvements. Firstly, he could make them smaller and better fitted to go with his sleek new suit. Then, he could redesign the firing mechanism to be more versatile. While a strand of webbing is helpful in most situations, that spray he'd created by smashing his cartridge against the ground was also useful. If he could recreate that effect without wasting an entire cartridge that'd be great. Finally, he could improve how the cartridges are packed. Both the amount of webfluid in each and how many he could carry on him. He'd prefer to have a decent stock of webfluid on his person after his recent death defying escapade.

After dinner when the house began to wind down for bed, Peter approached Mary's room. The door was slightly ajar, a soft golden light spilling out into the hallway. 

Gently, Peter knocked on the door, which pushed it open a little more. Mary sat at her desk, headphones in, doing homework. She removed one and looked towards the door after the knock, only to see Peter standing there like a kicked puppy. 

“Hey Pete, what's up?” She asked casually. 

“Can we, uh– can we talk?”

“Sure,” Mary shrugged and removed her other ear bud. She turned her desk chair fully in Peter's direction. “Come on in.” 

Peter did just that, closing the door most of the way but leaving a small gap. He took a moment to gather his thoughts, but it didn't help him all that much. So he pulled a folded up sheet of paper out of his pocket and tapped it against his hand a few times before holding it out to Mary. “Can I ask for a favor?”

Mary was perplexed as she hesitantly grabbed the folded paper from Peter, "... sure?”

She unfolded the paper while Peter spoke. “That's the, um, chemical analysis for these vials Green Goblin has. And I'm just… struggling to piece it together.”

Her eyes ran over the paper, taking in the information. Her eyebrows scrunched up in confusion. This was far too advanced for her. “I… don't know if I can help you with this, Pete.”

Peter shook his head. “No, there's too much missing from the analysis. It's- it's incomplete. But… I might know where we could get more information.”

Mary raised an eyebrow suspiciously. She had two questions now, but would deal with them one at a time. “Where did you even get this?”

Peter bit his bottom lip for a moment and looked away. “Daredevil,” he said quietly, he looked back at Mary pleadingly, “but… don't tell Billy and Freddy. Or the others.”

Mary's shoulder's dropped slightly. There was a hint of disappointment in both her expression and tone. “Peter…” She didn't have to say anything else for Peter to jump back in.

“Just–! Not yet. Not right now, okay? You know how they are, loud and- and boisterous. This needs… it needs calm and quiet and stealth.”

Mary closed her eyes for a moment and sighed. She didn't like all the secret keeping around their superhero personas. She'd been an advocate for telling Peter about their powers sooner rather than later. However, she also completely understood where Peter was coming from. She opened her eyes and asked her second question. “When and where?”

“Subway tunnels. Tomorrow night.”