Chapter Text
For months, Peter couldn’t understand why Aunt May didn’t accept him. He wanted to be himself, to feel comfortable and be happy. She wanted that too, right?
For months, Peter spent many nights leaning against a building and staring sadly at the sky. He’d lost the ability to cry within the first week of living in New York, unprotected and near starving.
After months of living in pain, starving and parched constantly, he understands. He knows why May couldn’t ever accept him.
At least, he thinks he does.
Being who he is, he needs money. Lots of money .
Peter Parker, being only fifteen and having lived as a lower-middle class citizen in New York until seven months ago, does not have money.
At the moment, actually, he has four dollars and seventy-two cents. That’s enough for a pretzel. A street vendor’s shitty pretzel, one that’s dry and always either has too much salt, or not enough.
Peter Parker has four dollars and seventy-two cents, and he has not eaten in two days. He wants to get more money, because he wants to eat and drink.
Some citizens, as in any city, are often kind to him. He thinks it’s because he’s young, and for once in his life, he’s thankful for it. For once, he accepts the pity that’s directed at him and lets it help him. He’s desperate now.
Peter can almost always tell when he’s receiving money or food or a drink from a tourist. One, they never have an accent, which sticks out like a sore thumb among New York’s bustling streets. Two, they usually give him more sympathy. Natives will, more often than tourists, give him a passing glance, even if the pity shines bright in their expression. Three, they always have a map and lots of money. Money to go souvenir shopping, and a map to find out how the hell to get through New York without ending up miles from where they want to be.
He used to understand how it felt to be so lost in New York. He may have grown up in the city, but he never really understood how to get around until he had to. After a bit, it became easy. After that, it was like second nature. He grew fluent in directions, reciting them almost like song lyrics.
A tourist had given him the four dollars and seventy-two cents. She spoke with a kind, midwestern tone, and she had a baby with her, who held a crumpled map in her small, pudgy hands.
Peter liked the baby. She had big eyes, dark hair that was growing fast for her perceived age, and a tiny nose, he remembers. She liked to look at him, and he remembers her watching him accept the money from her mother. She looked absolutely fascinated.
Peter sits in silence, watching people run, walk, dance, etc. down the street. They’ll give him a look or two. A few bold kids will give him a smile.
He smiles back when an anxious girl runs up to give him a dollar before going back to her father. He notices the man giving a warm smile, and it makes him feel something for a second. It feels like happiness, maybe. Or, perhaps, the closest thing to it that he can feel for now.
This fleeting happiness reminds him of those small moments before everything darkened. Before he ended up here, sitting and watching people from afar. It reminds him of his time with May, but he can’t be bothered to reminisce right now. Right now, he has more important things to do. Like not trying to remember what happened.
But now that they’ve been brought up, he knows there’s no way for him to push them back down. He’s tried. In the long run, it’s just easier to let this happen. Get it done and over with, so it doesn't build up like it has in the past.
The day was normal, like any other day. Peter woke up, went through his habitual morning routine, ate breakfast, went to school.
Everything was fine. It was an okay first half of the day considering what would soon follow.
When he finally got to the apartment he and Aunt May lived in, he wasn’t expecting the silence as he walked through the door.
It was deafening, May loved music and would always have something on when she was home.
Peter cautiously walked through the house when he finally came across May at the table with something in front of her. He couldn’t yet see what the item was.
“Hey, May. Is there something wrong?”
“Paige, I found something and I need you to tell me the truth.” There was something in her tone that warned him that there was no way out of this conversation.
Walking closer, he finally got a look at what was in front of her.
Right then and there, he knew he was so fucked. Really, really fucked.
It was his journal, the one thing that he had no filter with. It was supposed to be in the deepest, darkest corner of his closet, but it wasn’t. May had it.
“M-May, I — I can explain,” Peter whispered, feeling a burning sensation in his nose. He wouldn’t cry. He wouldn’t cry. He was a man. Men don’t cry.
No more escapes. May had it all in front of her. She’d read it.
No crying.
“I really don’t think you can. You shouldn’t be leaving things like this just laying around.”
“May, please l-let me explain.”
Peter knew this conversation would not turn out well. May’s views and angry rants were all ingrained in his mind. That's why he hid it. It was in a place he thought she would never look. Now it was all out there, now she knew and she was going to be painfully disappointed.
“Paige, you can’t be thinking like this. You know what our church’s view is on this. You know how much church means to me, right? You don’t want to make me leave the church. It just makes so happy. All my friends are there, Paige.”
“B-But, May— I-I— this means s-so much to me,” Peter tried to argue. Why couldn’t she see that he wanted to be happy? This was him trying to be happy. That’s what she’s always wanted for him, why she would take him to church.
But church doesn’t make me happy, May…
Peter was tensing up now, his eyes brimming with tears. May became a blurry mess before him, and he was only left to remember her disapproving expression
May sighed heavily, and Peter could imagine the distortion of her features, remembering all the times she grew angry or frustrated. His chest felt tight.
“I can’t talk about this with you right now. Go to your room and do something productive. We’ll talk about this in the morning.”
All Peter could get himself to do was nod before he sluggishly walked towards his room.
Peter knew that this was going to be one of May’s binge drinking nights and tomorrow morning would be far from pleasant. He could already hear her in the kitchen grabbing her favourite drink to have when she was angry and heading towards the living room.
He closed his door and immediately broke down in silent tears.
May, the only family he had left, was angry at him. No, she was disappointed in him. She didn’t want him, and it was his fault. After all, his responsibility was making her like and accept him. He’d failed that responsibility.
His chest ached sharply from his emotions and the makeshift binder. ACE bandages tightly restricting what he hated so much. He despised taking them off.
It took roughly a half hour before he could calm down and start doing his homework. He didn’t have much, as winter break was about to start, so the teachers didn’t have much planned.
It occupied him for an hour, and by the time he completed the last of his calculus, he was exhausted. All he wanted to do was curl up in his sheets and sleep for eternity.
The following morning, Peter was awoken by the sound of glass shattering.
His curiosity overpowering his reason and wariness, he slipped out of bed, leaving its warmth and comfort.
May was known to be a clumsy, raging drunk. She would fall into things, push things over, do almost anything to either show her anger or get things out of her way.
Peter’s hand hovered over the doorknob of his bedroom door, sleep washing away well enough to where he could think clearly for a few moments. Did he want to go out there? May had found out that her “little girl” was everything she hated. She was angry, resentful .
But, a tiny voice in Peter’s mind began , something broke. What if she accidentally hurts herself? What if she steps on what she shattered?
Peter took another moment to think. This was his aunt. His only family left. She may have had her flaws, but she was all he had left. What would he do without her?
Eventually, he found himself opening the door, trying to keep it from creaking. He didn’t want to alert her yet, as he guessed she was still very drunk. The thought alone made his heart race even faster.
When he crept out of his bedroom, he could finally see the shards of the vase that May must have broke.
Heartbreakingly, it appeared to be the same vase he got her for her birthday last year.
Tears welled again in Peter’s eyes. When he’d gifted her the vase, she loved it. She had the brightest smile on her face, and she brought him close and hugged him, telling him she loved him and it was beautiful. He spent weeks saving money to buy it.
When he looked away from it, he saw May stumbling around in the kitchen, squinting and her features twisted into tight frustration.
Peter’s eyes searched the small apartment for the broom and dustpan. It was usually around for whenever he or May cleaned, which was at least once a week.
The broom was found leaning against a wall in the corner of the dining room, the dustpan clipped to the handle.
He tried to go retrieve it, but he was caught in the process.
May was always terrifying when she was angry and drunk. She had no remorse, never remembering enough to apologize for it when she was sober later on.
“H-Hey, May,” Peter whispered, trying to calm her.
May’s eyes flashed angrily over him, poorly trying to study him. She looked close to letting go, like she usually did when she was several bottles in.
“M-May, please—” Peter tried to continue, but he was cut off when she finally spoke.
“No. You know what I think about all this! You know what our church thinks about this, but you go and do this anyways! How could you? Church is everything to us!”
She paused to take a swig of her newest bottle, and then she continued.
“You know what? I can’t have you here anymore!” She yelled as she backed him further and further towards the door, throwing a bag he usually kept packed for when he slept over at Ned’s house towards him.
“M-May, pl-please… you can’t. I-I— please, May.”
She can’t really mean this, could she? She’s my only family left. I’m her only family left.
May finally had him backed close enough to the door where she could open it up and push him out. As soon as he was out of the way, she slammed the door in his face.
Peter felt his world crash down around him in that instant. He had no family left. No one was there.
He couldn’t ask Ned, or even MJ, to stay with them. That would be too strenuous on them and their families. He could never ask that of them.
So, Peter decided as he began to cry, he was all alone now.
Peter doesn’t know he’s crying until his breaths are coming sharply and his face is wet from his hot tears.
Thankfully, he’s sitting near an alley. He scoots over into it and hides himself from view. He doesn’t want to be actively pitied now.
Peter curls up and quietly runs his hands through his long hair. It’s curling over and around his ears, and it’s much longer than he likes it. He’s only had his hair trimmed once in the last seven months, and it was when a woman was kind enough to offer to give him a free haircut.
He lets himself drift off into a vacant world of thought, waiting out the pain in his chest and head. Maybe it’ll be better when he comes back.