I'm keeping you at bay (and I'm lonely)

Peter took pride in staying humble, but one thing he didn't downplay was his capacity for handling adversity. Losing two parents plus a guardian would do that to a person, and that wasn't even considering his secret volunteer work. So yes, if you asked Peter, he'd say he could handle more than his fair share.

Or so he thought. Despite losing loved ones before, he'd never taken to the jaded thoughts that it would happen again, not really. A part of him had innocently clung to the idea that he couldn't lose a fourth parent before he even graduated high school, yet here he was, yanking hard on his hair to hold onto something, anything tangible and curled up on the floor of their—his—apartment, all alone now.

He needed to call someone, probably the police, but even that was beyond him. Who were you supposed to call when you found your last living relative dead on your kitchen floor? What was going to happen? May was all he had left, and he was only fifteen. What if they tried to shove him onto another family?

"It's just me and you." She'd said it herself, never seeing this coming. How could she? Nobody expected to be the victim of a robbery gone wrong, even people like the Parkers. They'd both been jumpy and afraid after Uncle Ben, but they'd grown out of what seemed like unnecessary precautions after a few months. Maybe if they'd just kept it up, this never would have happened.

He lost track of how long he stayed curled up on the hardwood, muffling sobs and struggling to ignore the unsettling knowledge that Aunt May's body couldn't be more than a couple strides away.

He pulled himself together enough by the end of the night to place an anonymous phone call to the cops, but he couldn't summon the courage to stick around until they showed up. Leaving the front door unlocked, he slipped out the window in his suit in search of a distraction.

He'd meant to go home once he was sure he wouldn't run into anyone there, but at some point he touched down on a rooftop for a much-needed break and was completely out within minutes.

A cramping back and rumbling stomach woke him when the midday sunlight failed to. As unprepared as he felt, he needed to eat, and getting a few more hours of sleep in his own bed wouldn't hurt either. Judging by how bright the sun already was, he'd slept through too much of the school day to even bother trying to make it in late. He swung straight home once Karen calculated the fastest route.

His appetite disappeared when he slithered through his—luckily still unlocked—bedroom window and into the kitchen, only to find that May was indeed gone but the aftermath of the attack remained in her place. He backed out of the room and sprinted for the bathroom instead before he threw up with the afterimage of the alarming blood stains imprinted in his mind, worse than any late-night horror movie scene.

The memories were too fresh that whole day, too painful to think about more than tangentially. He dragged himself away from the bathroom not long after making it home, but he pointedly avoided the kitchen and the section of the living room with a direct view into it, not eager for a repeat performance.

He managed to nap for a few hours before staring at his bedroom wall for a few more. Tears came on and off while he was awake in no discernible pattern. His phone chirped and pinged a few times throughout the day, but it wasn't enough to drag him from bed. Darkness fell outside but despite all the napping, he lacked the energy or will to walk the few feet to the nearest light switch, so he gave in to more sleep.

He could afford to miss school for one more day without a doctor's note, so he did. It was another bad day, but he found it marginally easier. After a morning occupied by absolutely nothing, he squeezed his eyes shut to avoid glimpsing the scene that had haunted his dreams the day before and pulled himself out of bed long enough for one of the quickest showers he'd ever taken, but it was a step in the right direction.

He didn't bother to dress beyond a pair of clean boxers, but he snagged his phone off the charger on his way back to bed and swiped away the game notifications that didn't matter before and really didn't matter now. A few worried messages from Ned warranted vague answers that left him feeling guilty for not quite lying but definitely not sharing the truth. Ned responded almost immediately and Peter left him on read.

He scrolled to the bottom of his notifications only to find the one name he couldn't bear right now.

May: come home soon! Made spaghetti & it's barely burnt

He felt like crying all over again at seeing the last thing she apparently ever said to him, but everything sort of slipped out of focus instead, like he was just occupying his body instead of running it. Vaguely, he thought that that was enough socialization for now; he could deal with the less important messages later.

Mostly, he blanked out, feeling nothing. Hours passed and he didn't care.

Then more tears came, without his permission at first, but he had no one left to hide from. He let himself cry shamelessly, not finding it within himself to care while he was alone with his thoughts.

Either he really zoned out or he fell asleep again at some point. The ring of the doorbell was a shock, enough to disorient him at first. He stumbled out of bed at the second ring and quietly padded to the door to check the peephole.

He should've expected Ned. He had no idea why he hadn't, knowing his best friend as well as he did. Not bothering to throw on more clothes or splash the tear tracks off his face first, he flipped the lock and pulled the door back.

There wasn't time to work his way up to it. It was too obvious something was wrong. Even if Ned let his neglected appearance slide, there was no avoiding the dried blood that still caked the floor mere feet away. That wasn't something Ned would let him ignore.

Ned let him take his time through the explanation, looking as crestfallen as Peter thought he must have when he'd first come home that night but never interrupting.

"I'm so sorry, Peter." And Peter knew he was. He was grateful to have Ned in his corner and for the weight he took off Peter's shoulders, but having a confidant didn't solve all of his problems, not by a long shot.

At least he wasn't alone in the apartment that night, and if he clung too tightly to Ned when the nightmares plagued him, no one else ever needed to find out.

The next day was a struggle thanks to being forced to keep it together through school for the first time, but he managed. "Managed" included several instances of Ned deflecting conversations on his behalf and a suspicious number of bathroom breaks to brush away tears in relative privacy, but it worked out. He survived another day, which was all he could ask for given his situation.

For the first time ever, he scoped out the parking lot inconspicuously and purposefully slunk into a crowd of juniors to avoid being seen when he spotted one of Mr. Stark's less flashy but still extravagant cars waiting for him. Not today. Maybe not anytime soon. That was to be determined, but today was a hard no. He wasn't ready to do more than the bare minimum yet. If that meant hiding from Happy to avoid training or time in the lab, so be it.

When neither of them had contacted him by the end of the night, the relief was almost tangible. Hopefully, they assumed he was out sick, but it didn't matter very much as long as they weren't upset with him. Whatever Mr. Stark had wanted clearly wasn't that important. That was a plus in Peter's book. The fewer obligations he had for now, the better.

Each day brought a little less pain and struggle than the one before. He couldn't think about May without a heavy feeling settling in his chest, but he could shake himself out of the funk faster each time it happened.

He had one close call with the police when they came back to his door and he accidentally stepped too hard on his way to check the peephole. He'd held his breath while they waited outside, but as the minutes ticked by interspersed by a few more rounds of harsh knocking, they got bored and left without seeing him. They didn't come back.

Navigating the obstacles that came with adult life was a little more than he'd been prepared for. Special effort went into getting to school on time and avoiding detention since the school relentlessly called for disciplinary issues until they could personally address parents.

When his appetite slowly came back to its usual ravenous level, the groceries they'd had on hand didn't last long. He had enough sense to cut the unhealthy and expensive near-daily takeout habit they'd built together, but even so, he was down to eating stale cereal and crackers from the back of the cabinets and had to start rooting around for May's wallet within the week. It had somehow escaped the burglar's notice even though it wasn't hidden very well in the nightstand drawer—that, or he just grabbed the cash and left the rest of its contents—so at least he had access to whatever he could charge across a debit card and two credit cards. Sticking to self-checkouts saved him the worry of someone noticing the name on the cards, and it wasn't so stressful to shop for groceries after his trial run.

He quickly discovered which bills were set on autopay when the electricity remained steady but the gas and his phone service lapsed. He weighed the pros and cons of both but opted to go without the phone until he could figure out how much money he had to work with. He had to wrestle with the website for the gas bill and brute force his way through the password, but he got it right eventually. The gravity of his first major financial decision was another slap in the face, but again, he handled it. Maybe he wasn't legally an adult yet, but in all senses but the most technical, he sure felt like one.

Cutting back on Spider-Man time became a necessary evil. It took some time, but he reached the point of being ready to get back on the streets soon enough, only to realize that the increased calories it demanded made it an unwise decision with his budget still up in the air. He was long used to limiting his time in the suit to keep up with Peter Parker responsibilities, but this was different. Homework and decathlon weren't the things holding him back; only money was to blame, and money wasn't easy to come by at his age.

Sucking it up and getting a job should've been his first step, but he put it off for a few weeks. He was lucky to know Mr. Delmar so well. It was hard to imagine anyone else who would hire a fifteen-year-old under the table and work around his school schedule. It helped that he had more free time after dropping patrols down to an hour or two a day and cancelling their internet service at home. Too much of his free time had been spent just… existing. Even he could see it wasn't healthy, so at least there were secondary perks to taking on his new job as sandwich delivery boy.

The starting hourly pay wasn't great, and he couldn't afford to negotiate much considering the fact that he already had to be paid under the table due to his age, but he'd been promised a raise if he stuck around until he could be on the official roster after his next birthday, plus sometimes he earned surprisingly large tips if he ran fast enough. He already had a few dinner usuals by the end of the first week, and they always joked with him and tipped better than the others.

For a while, life went on.

Then it didn't. A plain sheet of paper slipped under the front door while he was at school one day in March was his final warning to get his shit together. PAYMENT OVERDUE, spanned the top in bold red lettering, and he didn't have to read the rest of the page to know he couldn't handle it alone.

May had always taken pride in making sure he understood their basic finances, which meant he'd known there should've been enough funds in the bank account to cover at least two months of rent and bills at all times… but without her job bringing in a steady paycheck to replenish the accounts over the past two months, there was little chance there was enough left to cover any more. He'd found her checkbook easily enough the first time and taken the risk of forging her signature for the landlord before, but purposefully writing a bad check seemed far too risky a move to make now.

He pushed the letter to the back of his mind long enough to head out for his shift at Delmar's and had the cash he'd earned for the week by the end of the evening, but even combining it with everything left in his wallet and the old coffee jar that served as his (totally cool, grown-up) piggy bank, there was nowhere near enough. He worked twenty-hour weeks and made less than half of May's hourly pay at her more than full-time job, so he should've seen it coming. The realization still stung, though. This wasn't possible.

He'd made it on his own for this long, but now he was reduced to praying her cards wouldn't get declined or examined too closely each time he had to swipe for groceries or another refill on his subway pass. There couldn't be much cash left in the bank account, and the credit cards had to be gathering an overwhelming amount of interest on what he'd already charged.

Really, this was a lot of guesswork. May taught him the basics of their finances, nothing specific. He didn't know the login details for her online accounts—barring the one he'd guessed under duress—or her interest rates or her credit limits. There was nothing to go off of without somehow beefing up his own income.

It took surprisingly little time to accept that he needed to ask for help, but that was where the process grew complicated. Yes, he needed someone, but who? Ned would be willing to lend him a sleeping bag on his bedroom floor if he got evicted, but that wouldn't fly with his parents for more than a few days. They weren't stupid; they'd figure out something was up, even if they didn't figure out exactly what.

He could call the police again, but that was a fast track to a foster home, no doubt about it. A few of the teachers would possibly help him if he asked, but he had a sinking feeling they'd be obligated to report him to the police themselves, not to mention how inappropriate it might look from an outsider's perspective if anyone found out a middle-aged teacher was housing a random teenager.

There were rare occasions he remembered seeing Aunt May hock their more expensive and unnecessary possessions to cover unexpected bills while she'd still worked in retail, but that wasn't really an option either. What were the chances any pawn shop was going to work with a minor? And even if there was one, the robbery hadn't left him anything of value; all of May's jewelry had disappeared, the emergency box of cash was raided, and even the TV had been carried off into the night. He only had his ancient phone and secondhand laptop because he'd taken both to school that day, and neither was worth enough to make a dent in the rent.

He could reveal Spider-Man's civilian identity. The city wasn't completely on his side when he first started, but he'd amassed a dedicated following in the months since then, and they'd probably support him enough to keep him alive and healthy given the chance. His few friendships would have to be severed to avoid having them used against him, and that would be lonely but he could handle it if he had to. The option still didn't sit right with him, though. Even if no one would be hurt by revealing his identity, it felt… wrong in some way to use Spider-Man to float his way through life. It wasn't a hard no, but even considering the concept as a loose option didn't leave him feeling great about himself.

The only other choice he had was to tell Mr. Stark, but in all honesty, he was scared. As much as the fanboy side of him could geek out and burst into euphoria at the idea of talking to the Tony Stark, his logical side kept him more in check. Yeah, Mr. Stark talked to him, but he talked to a lot of people he didn't care much about. That was what CEOs did, and even though he wasn't actively running Stark Industries anymore, he'd been a businessman for longer than Peter had been alive. There was no telling how he felt about Peter from their admittedly limited interactions. Thanks to the whole avoiding Happy's cars thing, Peter hadn't even seen him once since May's death, and that wasn't out of the norm for them.

He didn't go out after work that night. His homework laid on his desk untouched while his thoughts spiraled in search of a solution. Nothing solid came to mind, though. No matter how long he thought about it, he kept coming back to asking Mr. Stark for help. Most of his brainpower had gone to justifying that plan of action.

If he was leaning toward the pessimistic side, Mr. Stark was indifferent to him, but in no way did he dislike Peter. That was a point in his favor. Another thing that helped was that he already knew and probably trusted Peter a little, so he wasn't just another person walking in from the streets asking for a job he wasn't qualified for. Peter was only in high school, but he was great with everything math and science he'd run into so far, so he could handle a lab position if Mr. Stark would just take the time to consider him instead of immediately turning him down.

If he could prove he could financially support himself, he was pretty sure he could legally emancipate himself, or some kind of legal term like that which meant he could avoid being placed with a foster family. He'd have to drop out of school to fit in the hours needed to make rent and pay for food and bills, but that was fine. Leaving Mr. Delmar after he'd given him the opportunity to help himself would sting more, but the eight hundred dollars a month he could make there just wasn't enough to get by in Queens, and it wasn't like he was leaving completely… he just couldn't swing working delivery anymore.

He was Spider-Man; a normal adult life was never in the books anyway. College wasn't a necessity; a GED was just as well for what he wanted to do with his life. It would've been nice to graduate with Ned, sure, but it wasn't the end of the world if he had to watch from the audience instead. Besides, what was the use of graduating without May there to see it?

That was the thought that solidified his decision. He picked up his phone.

"Hey, Mr. Stark. Can we… can we talk?"