Chapter Text
“You gonna make it in time?”
“I always do.”
“We’ll cover for you. Good luck.”
Peter got down to the final step outside of the elementary school and turned, just briefly, to grin at his friends as the rest of their classmates all ran ahead of them in excitement to get home for the start of the spring break.
“Luck’s for suckers.” He told MJ and Ned, before turning on his heel to begin the same run he made every Friday afternoon.
The small boy ran past the yellow school bus that was quickly filling up with excited kids, Peter not sharing their enthusiasm to go home to any caregivers or parents, as he instead continued sprinting down the busy New York street like his life depended on it, worn down trainers barely clinging on.
After eight minutes, the asthmatic ten year old halted to a stop in front of a bicycle hire dock, gasping in breaths before smiling in relief when he saw a woman who was just about to put one of the rental blue bikes into a dock.
“Excuse me!” The boy called out, jogging up to her as he prepared his best puppy dog eyes. “Do you have any time left?”
Please say yes, please say yes, please say yes-
“I- uh- I have about ten minutes.” She fumbled, eyeing the child’s rugged clothing and appearance, before clearly looking around for his caretakers, much to the boy’s well hidden irritation.
“I’ll return it for you.” Peter offered, making sure to keep his voice as soft and innocent sounding as possible.
The woman looked at him incredulously. “Really?”
The ten year old extended his hand. “Pinky promise.”
As usual, the childish expression paired with his purposely widened eyes managed to swoon the woman in his favour, and Peter was soon off on a city bike to his destination with a yell of “thanks!” over his shoulder.
He peddled as fast as his small legs could manage as he jumped curbs and dodged traffic, making it just before the ten minutes were up to put the bicycle back into a dock close enough to his next destination. He switched forms of travel and got onto the subway, catching the correct train just in time to allow himself a few minutes to catch his breath, painfully sucking in the medication from his inhaler to the worried stares of on-goers before he had to start running again. He jumped off of the train at the second stop, lungs having just recovered enough for him to breathe properly only to be strained again now.
“Ten! Nine! Eight! Seven! Six!” A huge crowd stood not far from the exit of the underground subway station, their chants encouraging the child to move faster as he passed a related sign with the words ‘It’s 5:28:26 and No One’s Dropped A Call!’ the time ticking by the second, showing how long he had left.
“Five! Four! Three! Two! One!”
Peter got to the large crowd just as the countdown ended and cheers erupted, the small child becoming enveloped by the much larger adults surrounding him, to the point that he had to stand up on his tippy toes and strain his neck to avoid suffocation and see even a portion of the person on the stage, standing beneath the banner proudly proclaiming ‘5000th Stark Mobile Store, first 500 people get FREE Stark Phones’, as balloons fell out into the cheering crowd.
“Light it up!” The man on stage encouraged his audience, before rhetorically adding “How many of you guys want some free Stark phones, huh?”
That really got the crowd going, their eager greedy yelling hurting the child’s ears, but his eyes stayed fixed on the billionaire inventor he’d given a class presentation on just that morning.
“I can’t hear you!”
A man shoved into Peter, practically trampling the boy in his futile attempt to get to the front of the audience.
Peter was thrown off balance for a moment, dazed as he was suddenly squished between three people, before remembering that he had places to be.
This wasn’t what he’d came all this way for.
Shrugging his too heavy backpack back up onto his shoulders properly, the boy once again started running. He was almost there.
The street lights had turned on by the time he finally made it to his destination, a small Thai restaurant on a street corner in Queens, that had so much meaning to the child that passersby simply couldn’t comprehend. Peter smiled in relief when he saw the familiar owner of the restaurant putting the evening menu sign out in front of the building.
He’d made it.
“Any reservations for Parker, Mr Chen?” He asked hopefully.
The old man’s wrinkled face fell into his usual sad smile at the weekly question. “Honey, I told you. If anyone I think could even remotely be your parents walk in, I'm gonna let you know, and I mean remotely. Name’s Parker, Carter, Barber, Harper, or other— I’ll let you know.” The man paused, before knowingly gesturing to the boy who didn’t turn to move. “I’m guessing you're going to wait here anyway.”
“Yep.” Peter popped the ‘p’ and grinned cheekily, before going to his designated street corner to sit and wait at until closing time. He plonked himself down onto the curb, pulling his old and too big hoodie tighter around himself as he prepared for another chilly evening outside, smiling reassuringly when he caught eyes with the old man who was now looking at him in worry through the restaurant’s window.
Hopefully the nights would get a little warmer and brighter with the oncoming of summer, it was already a massive improvement from a few weeks ago when he was half freezing to death in a raggedy coat by that time.
Pulling out the sandwich he’d used his savings to buy in the school cafeteria earlier, Peter took a big bite and hummed appreciatively at finally having something to assuage his growling stomach. He hadn’t had dinner yesterday because he’d gotten into trouble for back chatting, and in the morning he’d barely managed to grab a banana before being rushed out the front door, and he’d chosen to save his lunch for now so the squished sandwich was the most he’d eaten since yesterday morning.
Quickly scarfing the meagre food down, he pulled out his homework to do and then the Hawking’s book ‘The Theory of Everything’ which he’d checked out at the library, allowing himself to become thoroughly immersed by the new ideas presented to him for the next three hours, ignoring the feeling of his fingers becoming numb in the cold as he held the book tightly on his lap.
~~~~~
“Get your free Stark phone, never drop a call.”
Tony begrudgingly accepted the hand shake he was offered after giving one of his new phones out to what must have been the thousandth person in the never ending queue.
The guy’s hand he shook was sticky, and he grimaced as he looked down at it before turning to pick up yet another phone for the next person, aware of Pepper and Obi’s eyes watching him from behind to make sure that he didn’t mess up.
“Free Stark Phone. Okay?” The billionaire was much more hesitant to shake the next lady’s hand, barely allowing his fingertips to touch hers for more than a few seconds before letting go.
After another two people, he was finally, finally, down to the last phone of the five hundred he’d stupidly agreed to hand out in person.
Damn Obi and his ridiculous campaign ideas.
“And there we are, ma’am. Free Stark phone, never drop a call.” He recited, relief filling him that it was finally over. Now all he needed was a bottle of hand sanitiser and a glass of whisky, and this could all be forgotten about. Better yet, the success of the event meant that Pepper couldn’t be mad at him for the next few days, at least.
“I’m totally gonna vote you for mayor now.” The woman said with excitement as she held the new thousand dollar phone tightly, putting her other hand by her mouth and leaning in close as she said it, as though she were whispering an important secret.
“Yeah, well, you know what? This isn’t a campaign event.” He made sure to say the last part loudly for anyone listening, lying through his teeth as directed by Stane who’d set the whole thing up, before leaning in too and putting his hand by his mouth just like the woman had to ‘whisper’ back to her. “But I would totally love that.”
The lady’s smile grew, and the next thing Tony knew he had a stranger’s arms wrapped around him in a hug, her germy breath hitting the side of his face.
The man tensed up, trying to squirm away and desperately looking over her shoulder towards Pepper for help, but the redhead just looked on with a polite smile, hints of amusement in her eyes that you wouldn’t be able to spot if you didn’t know her like he did.
After a few far too long moments of the stranger passing all of her germs onto him, she finally pulled away, squeezing Tony’s biceps before mercifully leaving.
A bath in sanitiser it was then…
And a bottle of whisky.
Pepper, apparently pleased by his performance for the day, came up and patted his back comfortingly (the one person’s touch the billionaire didn’t hate, not that he’d ever admit it), before smiling professionally at the leftover crowd still surrounding them. “Okay, that’s it. We’re done here. Thank you all for coming.” She waved a hand at everyone before pushing Tony to move.
The inventor was guided away from everyone, flanked by Pepper and Obi, and quickly joined by his driver Hogan as he was led through the remaining crowds, press cameras flashing brightly in their faces.
“Hose me down, I feel like I'm on fire.” He groaned, not exaggerating in the slightest as he fought to keep the public charismatic smile on his face.
“Here.” His pseudo uncle Obadiah handed him a bottle of sanitiser, having had it ready in his hands, knowing what the inventor was like with people touching him, especially strangers. Tony immediately squirted a large portion of it onto his hands and began rubbing.
“You should clean your tongue, you kissed a few babies, wouldn’t want to catch colic.” Pepper teased next to him, but Tony took her suggestion as a challenge, and honestly not all that bad of an idea. Besides, weren’t hand sanitisers mostly alcohol? Win, win.
“You know what? You’re absolutely right.” He squeezed some of it into his mouth, mostly to prove a point which he felt like he won at Pepper’s disgusted face and snapped “Oh, Tony!”
“Well, you shake 500 hands, and tell me how you feel, huh?” He paused to give a brief smile and wave at a group of news reporters. “I feel like a zookeeper.”
Pepper shook her head in begrudged amusement at his antics.
“Marry me, Tony!” Someone yelled from the crowd, to which the man passively replied “Okay, sure!” with a hand gesture before finally getting to his car.
~~~~~
Cab after cab rolled by, the little boy’s hope soaring each time as he thought that maybe this would be the one, the cab his parents would get out of, but he was sourly let down each time.
He’d been sitting outside in front of the Thai place every Friday night for as long as he could remember, and yet the overwhelming disappointment he felt when it hit closing time and another week rolled by without his parents coming back for him never hurt any less.
The ten year old was tired and hungry by the time Mr Chen turned over the sign on the restaurant door to mark it as closed, before coming over to the child with a sad expression and his weekly offering of a takeaway box.
Peter, as per routine, felt his heart crumble and his face heat up in embarrassment at his failure and the pity displayed on the man’s face.
“Sorry.” Chen said simply, crouching down to the boy’s level before handing him the takeaway box.
“It’s okay… I just come for the larb.” Peter lied, shrugging his too slim shoulders in an attempt at seeming uncaring and not at all hurt as he gratefully accepted the box. “I larb larb!”
“I’ll see you next Friday?” Mr Chen asked kindly, which made the child smile.
“You know it.” He replied, almost excited by the acknowledgement of their tradition. Peter didn’t have many memories or connections with people, especially adults, so Mr Chen anticipating and expecting him to come back, maybe even being excited for it, made the often forgotten and overlooked boy’s heart flutter. As simple as the comment had been, to the child it signified that someone was out there waiting for him, that they would be looking out for him.
“Thanks for the food, Mr Chen!” Peter called as he stood up onto his feet and swung his backpack over his shoulder, ready for the long trip back to his current ‘home’.
~~~~~
It was very late by the time he got to his street, or at least, late for a ten year old to be out alone. Especially in a dodgy neighbourhood like his.
Before he could go to bed though, he had to make a quick stop at the Deli across the street from his apartment, picking up a bucket with some flowers in.
“Hey, mijo. How’d it go?” Mr Delmar asked, popping his head out from the shop window upon seeing him.
“Nah.” Peter shrugged, again trying to seem unbothered by using minimal words.
Mr Delmar waved it off with his hand, clearly trying to match the boy’s dismissive attitude and unsure what the right thing to say would be.
“Can I?” Peter asked hopefully as he held the bucket up to show the man.
“Sure, as long as you give those to my lady.” Delmar pointed at the flowers.
The boy fought against cringing, forever irked by the nice man’s interest in the horrible woman who ran Peter’s current foster placement. He was so much better than her, and Peter hated seeing the woman treat his friend so horribly.
“Thanks.” He replied nevertheless, before running across the road to his apartment. Peter had long ago learned to not bother pressing the button outside of the apartment in request for entry when he was late home, that it would only be ignored and he’d be left locked outside all night, like that terrifying and freezing February night not too long ago. Either that, or he’d be let in and yelled at for being late, maybe even punished by being locked in the closet. A shiver ran down his spine at the mere thought of it, Peter hated being confined to the dark cramped closet in the living room all night.
It was better to take the risk and sneak in through the fire escape, which is where the bucket came into play. The boy placed it upside down on the top step of the entry way, before stepping up onto it and stretching his arms up in order to reach the rusty fire escape ladder and pull it down to him.
He climbed up the ladder until he reached the mercifully open window on the fourth floor, pushing the curtains out of the way before fearfully looking around the living room for any sign of the witch who lived there.
He grinned in accomplishment when he couldn’t see her, hope filling him as he considered that maybe he’d successfully snook in as he stepped inside and began to quickly make his way to his shared bedroom past the kitchen. Going quicker and quicker the closer he got to his door, safety in his sight, all to be caught right before he made it by a drunken yell of “Freeze!”
Damn it.
Peter’s face scrunched up as his shoulders slumped in annoyance, groaning disappointedly. So close.
“I said freeze, you little rat!”
Miss Hannigan was behind him, having no doubt just come out of the kitchen after raiding the fridge for drinks.
“I know you heard me.”
Peter turned around after debating whether it would be worth it to ignore her and go into his room- which was literally a step away- opting to not worsen things tonight. He was already tired and upset after todays lack of events, he didn’t want to get into even more trouble than he already was in on top of it. Plus, if he went into his room, his foster siblings who were also in there would probably get into trouble somehow too.
“Get over here!” She snapped, pointing to the spot in front of her.
The boy obliged, a cocky smirk crossing his face without him meaning too as he pulled the now crumpled and ruined flowers out of the side pocket of his bag. “These are from Mr Delmar.” He said in a sickly sweet voice, giving her the flowers which she snatched out of his hand.
“They look like they’re from Delmar.” She replied with a scoff, before throwing the flowers carelessly to the side.
“I’ll tell him you loved them.” Peter replied with an overly toothy grin, irritating the woman with his ‘attitude’, despite the kid not even consciously trying to be annoying at that time. Sometimes he just couldn’t help it.
“You think the world wants a smart-mouthed little boy? No, they don’t, otherwise you wouldn’t be here.”
Ouch…
“And the only reason you are here is because I get $157 a week from the state. Which, believe me, is not worth it.”
Her words were slurred and her breath smelled of alcohol, and yet the young boy kept a brave face and nodded along in an over exaggerated sign of agreement, that came across as belittling.
His insincerity was apparently recognised, as Hannigan looked at the child in frustration before leaping forward and grabbing him by his shirt collar. So much for not getting himself into more trouble.
“I should put a leash on you, you little…”
Peter was slammed face first into the wall, his entire body tensing as danger blared around him, but he managed to keep up an aura of calm, having long ago learned that crying only seemed to anger frustrated adults even more. Methodically, he picked up a picture the self absorbed woman had of herself on the wall, holding it tightly to hide the shaking in his hands.
“You’re so pretty.” He complimented as he looked at the picture, knowing that feeding into her ego was the best way to diverge her attention.
Just like the flowers, the picture was snatched out of his hands by the blonde woman. “I used to be a bright star.” She pointed her finger at it shakily, the drunken self pity quickly building up. Peter knew her infamous speech about the ‘tragic’ end to her music career was coming, but for once it didn’t lead him into gritting his teeth and rolling his eyes as he instead fought back a smirk, because it was exactly what he wanted her to do.
“I was in the biggest band in the world, C+C Music Factory.” She said snootily, and the boy held back a snort. “We were about to go on Arsenio Hall Show.”
“September 16th, 1991.” Peter added helpfully with exaggerated head nodding, earning another annoyed look.
“But I was too good for them! Fired me right before I went out on stage.”
“You have a very pretty voice.” The boy commented, as he began to discreetly inch backwards towards his door.
“I will die with that secret!” Hannigan yelled frustratedly, before going quiet as she looked at the picture again, drunken breaths heavy in her anger.
As soon as she looked away, Peter took his shot and twisted on his feet, quickly going into his room and slamming the door shut to an enraged yell of “Hey, you little bastard, I wasn’t done with you! Get back here!”
The ten year old kept his hands pressed against the door in panic as her fist slammed against it, but she must have been very drunk as she didn’t even try to open the door. “I haven’t told you how I was almost one of Hootie’s Blowfish.” She whined pitiful, which made the four other children in the room laugh.
Once the woman had gone to drink herself into a coma, Peter turned around to smile at his friends. There were three bunkbeds in the room, which housed Peter, his two best friends Ned and MJ who were both in his year, and his other two foster siblings seven year old Mia, and twelve year old Isabella.
Under the state’s rules, foster homes had to keep kids of different sexes in separate rooms at night, but Hannigan didn’t care what they did unless an inspector was coming around, and they all preferred sharing a room to sleep in and using the other room for when they needed alone time. None of them would admit it, but being together in one room made them all feel a lot safer from the monster lurking outside.
“Did you find them?” Ned asked with his ever relentless optimism and hope, as Mia came over to sit on Peter’s bed like she did every night so that he could braid her hair for bed, as Peter was the only one she said didn’t hurt when doing it.
“Nah, but it’s okay.” He shrugged, wincing at the slew of apologies that followed from the room’s occupants.
He didn’t want ‘sorry’s. He just wanted his parents to come back and get him like they’d promised they would in the note they’d left.
“Really, it’s fine.” The ten year old dumped his bag by his bed before getting changed into comfier clothes in the closet, then coming back out to sit crossed legged on the bed to do Mia’s hair.
“Can you read the note again?” The seven year old asked sweetly, taking comfort in the note Peter’s parents left him as it gave her hope that she too would be returned for.
“Okay.”
“Ugh, God. For the millionth time?” Isabella whined, rolling over onto her side to face away from all of them.
MJ threw a pillow at the older girl, not looking up from her book as she did so, even when it was thrown back at her. “Just read it quietly so the witch doesn’t hear.” The girl drawled, unphased.
Peter nodded, as he pulled out the extremely creased note he kept safely hidden under his bed. Clearing his throat, he began reciting the words that he knew by then off the top of his head. “They went to Prachya Thai, ordered two larbs and a sticky rice pudding, and wrote me this note on the back of the receipt. Ahem. ‘Please take care of our baby, his name is Peter. We’ll be back to get him soon. There’s half a locket around his neck and we have the other half, so when we come for him, you’ll know that he’s our boy.’”
A deep empty feeling stuck in the ten year old’s stomach upon finishing the short note, much to be desired for left hanging in the air. They said they’d be back to get him soon. When was soon? This didn’t feel like soon.
When would his time for a family to call his own come?