Peter was feeling even more run down than usual. The streets had been quiet the past week; the weather had been rainy and cold and bad guys tended to hunker down. He was able to stay dry if he stayed in his current little cubby on the roof of the Smeltzer building, but he's always too much in his head if he stays there for too long. But still, he'd stayed put as much as he could. He doesn't think he could get sick at any dangerous level anymore, at least not normally. But it did sap his energy even more, having to try to stay warm while wet, so it was a bad idea to tempt fate.
There were also people out looking for him. He heard through one of the runaway kids that the social worker had stepped up her game looking for him, and Charlie was asking to make contact as well. Peter felt bad, he liked Charlie, but the last time Charlie had almost got him caught. He had no idea why Charlie waited until now to really put his name through the grapevine, but Peter thought that besides Delmar's he was safer to stay off the streets if he wasn't in his mask.
Luckily, this afternoon was the first dry spell the city had in the past week, so he made it to Delmar's without being soaked through. He nodded to Carlos behind the counter, and went to the back to get his apron and start working. The job wasn't hard at all- he just spent the rush hours washing some of the dishes, sweeping and mopping, putting all of the ingredients out when Carlos ran low, and some stocking. Both Carlos and Mr. Delmar were awesome to work around, and Peter enjoyed the time to be semi-normal. He was so thankful Mr. Delmar was willing to hire him under the table- he'd get a bit of cash and some leftover food for two or three hours of work.
Half way through his three hour shift, while he's in the back deciding what to stock next, he hears Mr. Delmar coming back into the stock room. He leans against the doorframe, hands in the pockets of his slacks.
"Hey Pete. How's it going?" He asked with a smile.
"Good, Mr. Delmar. Just gonna finish up the stocking of the store, and then I'll make sure to start the inventory you wanted me to do back here. I noticed we're out of a few things already, I put the list on your desk in your office."
"Great, kid. You do such a good job for me. How's your Aunt?" He asked, but without the typical sly grin on his face. He met her once when she had given permission for him to work here after school right before she died. It was kind of a running joke between them, that he knew Mr. Delmar had a borderline crush on the married woman. It had been so hard to hear her mentioned so casually since her death. Same as when he ran across someone who knew Uncle Ben.
Peter turned away from him, starting to open another box. He's always been a horrible liar, especially if he's looking right at someone. "Oh, you know. Same, pretty much." He never told Mr. Delmar what happened- he'd most certainly start asking questions, and while he would always be willing to help him out, he doubted he'd not try and 'help' the poor runaway kid by calling social services.
"Yeah, kid, okay." There was a pause. "Hey, someone asked about you earlier today. They wanted to know if you still worked here." Now Peter knew something was up. Mr. Delmar was trying to sound way to casual.
"Oh? Friend from school or something?" Peter asked hopefully. He did occasionally see kids from his public school come in.
"Maybe. He was your age, maybe a little older. Just said he'd catch up with you later. Didn't want to leave a message. Didn't buy anything from the store, either."
Peter thought Mr. Delmar sounded suspicious. "Ah, I'm sorry Mr. Delmar. I'll tell my friends to stay away from here. I promise they won't be a bother anymore." Peter had no idea who they could be though. Definitely didn't sound like Charlie, and while some of the kids occasionally came here, or might have seen him come here, he could think of no one that would want to see him.
Waving his concerns away, Mr. Delmar replied, "Don't worry about it. He wasn't a bother. But Pete," he said hesitantly, "maybe an hour later another person asked the same thing. Big guy, tattoos and much older. He came and said he was an old friend of your Uncle, and was just trying to track you down."
Peter started to sweat a bit, and felt a bit nauseous. He knew it was Charlie, and knew things were not going to end well with this. "Wha-what'd you say?" He asked. He kept trying to look out towards the store past Mr. Delmar, but could only see the hallway. What if Charlie was out there now? What if Mr. Delmar told him when he'd be working?
Mr. Delmar frowned, and he put his hands out. "Easy, kid. I didn't want to tell him anything without your permission. I asked him to contact your Aunt if he wanted to get in touch with an underage kid." Mr. Delmar stared him down. "Do you want to guess what he told me?"
Peter wrapped his arms around himself and looked down at the floor. He couldn't look at Mr. Delmar anymore. He'd lied to him for months. A lie of omission, but a big one and a lie all the same.
"Peter, what happened?" Mr. Delmar asked softly. "Come on, kid. You can tell me. He said your Aunt died? What's going on with you?"
Nodding, Peter opened his mouth to explain, but nothing came out. He felt himself starting to tear up, and rubbed his eyes to get rid of the feeling.
"Ah, Peter," Mr. Delmar said sadly. "Please tell me you aren't sleeping rough."
"You don't know what foster care is like!" Peter found himself blurting. "I'm fine as I am. Please don't tell him where I am!" He was shaking. It was all falling apart. He had no idea why Charlie was looking so hard for him now. He was usually alright with all the street kids and homeless people, didn't push. Why was he getting on Peter's case so bad? He was ruining everything.
Mr. Delmar shook his head. "I didn't Peter, at least not directly, but he knows you work here. He said he was going to stop by later, but I persuaded him to try back tomorrow instead by saying you weren't working today. I wanted to talk to you first. Kid, I know foster care isn't… ideal. I'm not naive. But you can't sleep out on the streets! I can only get you the few hours and crappy pay you get now, and that averages out to what, $60 a week? That can't be enough to survive on, and you can't get another job without parental approval. You need help, and he explained he could help you," He said beseechingly.
Peter had only listened up to the second sentence. Charlie knew he came here often. Charlie would be here tomorrow. Even if Peter skipped that day, Charlie was not the type to give up.
"I'm sorry, Mr. Delmar, I've got to go." Peter grabbed his rain jacket he had brought just in case, and tried to push past him. Mr Delmar stopped him with a hand on his chest.
"Just wait, Pete. At least let me pack up some food and get you your pay out of my wallet, okay? And listen to me. I understand if you don't want to come back soon with that guy looking for you. I know I might not know your full situation. But come back sometime next week, so we can really talk, okay? I don't want you dropping off the face of the earth on me. You can come whenever you want so you know I haven't set you up, but please do that for me."
Peter reluctantly nodded. Mr. Delmar patted his shoulder and went back to the front of the store. What was he going to do? He was barely surviving with Mr. Delmar's help. Now he'd have to stay away.
He had to go to Charlie- but on his terms. Maybe if he talked to him, he could see what he wanted, convince him he was better off away from the system.
It was the only option he had.
Tony found that catching up with the spider guy was harder than he had thought it would be. The guy had only been out about four times this past week since Charlie had told him he might be a good resource, and they were all too quick for him to get to him before he disappeared again. He was sure it had something to do with the rain, but it was frustrating.
Maybe if he rigged up a spider signal, he thought to himself sarcastically.
Swirling the drink in his hand, he stared down into the glowing city so far below. He was glad he hadn't yet sold the tower, otherwise this month would have been a bit more uncomfortable, having to live out of the old mansion. He never liked that place, it was always wrapped up in memories of his parents, both good and would probably head back to the compound as soon as he actually got hold of the ellusive vigilante. He'd gave Charlie a bit of spending money and a picture to send spies out into the homeless community to try to find the kid. Nothing had turned up yet, though.
Feeling restless, he contemplated heading down to into the city. Normally, he stuck to Manhattan on the rare occasions he went out without a purpose, but he had found himself wandering around Queens a few times the first few weeks of the search. He told himself it had nothing to do with the kid, but even he had his limits of denial. The kid, as much as various data had told him about him (sky high IQ and GPA, interest in chemistry from electives he'd chosen, Star Wars nerd from the few social media posts he'd made before they went silent at his Aunt and Uncle's deaths), was a complete mystery. He was trying to find something new to learn about the kid. Even if he doesn't really have an interest in keeping the kid, Tony always wants more data about any problem he was working on. Deprived of the object, location was his next option.
He was startled out of this thoughts by the phone ringing, answering when he saw the caller ID. "Hey Charlie, how's the peanut gang?" He answered flippantly. Charlie had called about every other day, letting him know about things he had done to find Peter.
Charlie chuckled. "Hey, Mr. Stark. Sorry for calling so late, my daughter was ill and had a rough evening."
"No worries. I wasn't actually expecting you to call tonight since I heard from you last night. I appreciate all you're doing, I don't want you taking time away from your family when there's nothing to update me about," Tony replied, really thinking that he'd rather not his time be taken up.
"Actually, I may have something. Well, I definitely have something, just not sure it'll lead me directly to Peter," Charlie replied.
Tony sucked in a breath. "Alright, hit me with it."
"One of the kids recognized the picture I showed him. He went out to talk with some others and found out he helps out sometimes at a local deli, so the kid went in and confirmed he still did. When he called me, I followed up, but got caught out by the owner. I got the feeling he was looking out for the kid, but I don't think he knew about the Parkers' deaths. The news really rocked him. The guy said he'd be in tomorrow, but I wouldn't be surprised if Peter gets tipped off before then. I'll go anyway and check."
"Okay," Tony breathed. Finally, some movement on the 'find the kid' front. "That'll give me something to start with at least." He would have Friday re-check the cameras in the area, see if he can get any kind of indication on where the kid is staying.
"Did you get in touch with Spider-Man yet?" Charlie asked.
"Not yet. He's not been around much," Tony said regretfully. On top of hoping to ask if he knew Peter, he was also hoping to find out if those webs he has (had? Hasn't been seen with them recently, for some reason) were made or… naturally occuring with the guy's obvious other enhancements.
Tony shuddered at the thought. Gross.
"I may be able to help you out there, as well. I'll just tell everyone that if they see Spider-Man, to ask him to meet Iron-Man at, say, 11pm on Saturday night. That you just need some help. Maybe on the roof of St. John's hospital?" Charlie asks. "It'll give us a week, and it's a decent bet someone in my network will run into him before then, either as victim or perpetrator."
Tony thinks. "Yeah, that's actually a great idea. I have to fly to D.C. for a couple of days this week, so I can't keep hanging around waiting for my chance to approach him. Thanks, Charlie. I can't tell you how much you've made my life easier."
"Yeah, no problem. I can't help these kids as much as I want to, sometimes. I'm hoping Peter will be the exception. I've got to get back to my wife now, I'll let you know if anything comes up."
"Sounds good," Tony replies. "Thanks again. Bye Charlie."
Tony hangs up, for once hopeful that at least one of two mysterious persons will be within his sight at the end of the week.
'It's like everyone is making up for last week,' Peter thought exasperatedly. It's cleared up completely now from the rain storms of last week, and bad guys are out in full force tonight. He's stopped three muggings, two breaking and enterings, one armed robbery of a bodega and one carjacking.
He was out for a long time last night, Monday, as well. On days like these, especially if they are in a row, he burns through energy ridiculously fast. He's burned through the last of his money from Delmar's today to buy himself food, as he hadn't gone back since he was forced to leave on Saturday. He waited across the street on Sunday, just to see if he could spot Charlie and glean any information on what he's looking for him for. He saw him come and go, and followed him back to wear he guessed Charlie worked. He hasn't gotten up the courage to confront him yet.
Peter still has no idea why Charlie is looking for him all of the sudden. Charlie doesn't usually chase the runaway kids- he's smart enough to know that if they run from a case worker they won't willingly go back into the system, so it's better to earn their trust and help in small ways- bit of food here, some change there, a heavy coat, maybe. The shelters and food kitchens are places runaways generally know to stay away from- they are mandatory reporters and often have police around them anyway. Peter got away with it in the beginning only until people realized his Uncle had died and he wasn't just visiting.
Peter heard a crash from down the road, and ran to investigate. He found a car wreck, and helped move one of the drivers to the side of the road as he was in a bit of shock. The passenger was fine, so he went to the other car and checked on that driver. He was fine, on his cell phone to the police, so Peter left him to it.
The crash had drawn a bit of a crowd, though most people were looking at him. He always felt a bit self conscious; he knew how his outfit looked- dirty, stained sweats, hoodie, and a badly sewn mask, along with obviously home modified goggles. He had been in the process of making a voice modifier when he had to leave home, but never got it finished. He hadn't been taken seriously several times due to his voice and hoped to change that. But he'd never be able to have tech like Iron Man, or even just an actual uniform like Captain America. He was a down market hero and at times like this he felt it.
He heard the sirens of the police and started his jog toward the corner to leave the scene.
"Hey, Spider-dude!"
Peter turned around to see a woman jogging up to him. She looked a little rough; skin weathered, hair not well taken care of; and was carrying a rucksack- he saw she had necklaces in her hand. She was obviously one of those who sold street wares for cash.
She was out of breath when she caught up to him. "Hey, man. I have a message for you!" She said when she caught her breath enough to get the words out.
Warily, Peter looked around the area, for what he doesn't know but he was suddenly suspicious. The cops, especially, had been trying to nab him for vigilantism, and had gotten close a few times since he couldn't web away.
"I guess Iron Man needs your help or something. He wants to meet you."
Peter felt his eyes widen. He had heard the sound of Iron Man's repulsors a few times last week, always after he'd been out as Spider-Man. He'd thought he was being paranoid.
"What for?" Peter blurted out, shocked. He was thinking it was more likely that Iron Man was wanting to arrest him. Why else would Iron Man himself be looking for him?
Part of Peter thought it'd be worth it to be arrested by Iron Man, just so he could meet him. He shook his head to clear it.
The lady seemed to be trying to figure out how to make eye contact through the goggles, but shrugged at his question. "Dunno. Just heard it from a bunch of people, guess he got the word out. 11pm Saturday, St. Johns' roof. You tell him Lacey Gilbert told you, maybe there's some money in that!" She said eagerly.
Right then the cops pulled up to the accident still in sight down the road. She looked back, seemed to startle, and hissed her name again before hurriedly heading around the corner.
Peter stared after her for a second, wondering what the hell that was. Was Iron Man really looking for him? Why? She said he needed his help, but Peter seriously doubted that. What could Spider-Man do to help Iron Man? Or Tony Stark, even? This made no sense.
He began walking dazedly.
Should he go to the meet? It could be a trap. And while the fan boy inside of him says it would totally be worth it to meet Iron Man, he knew being 15 wouldn't matter; he'd go to jail for his vigilantism. Maybe he'd get probation, but it'd definitely be inside the social services system, God knows where or with whom, and he wouldn't be able to continue the only thing keeping him sane at this point.
But what if it wasn't a trap? What if he really needed help? He couldn't imagine any scenario that would be probable. But if he didn't go, and Stark had needed help…
Ugh. He'd have to think on this. In the meantime, he might as well handle Charlie and that issue tomorrow so he'd know where he stood on that. With all of this on his mind, he headed to his current bolt hole, ready for some sleep. At least he'd have something else to obsess about besides his rumbling stomach…
Peter slept hard into the next morning, Wednesday, and woke up ravenous. He was out of money, and had to go beg which he hated, to get a couple dollars in change. It was enough to buy some jerky and a hard boiled egg from the corner store, trying to go for protein. Tonight he could spend some time behind some restaurants, and grab some of the stuff they threw out when they closed. He hated it as it was usually mixed in with trash and all mixed together, which made his enhanced senses go crazy. A lot of times the second he put it in his mouth he threw up anyway from the mix of smells and tastes but he was out of options.
Outside of the restaurant he had seen Charlie work at a couple days ago, Peter tried to be as incognito as possible. The restaurant, an italian place called SoleLuna, was in the middle of the block, so he just hung around the corner on the opposite side. The roofs in this area were all occupied or slanted, so that was a no go. The restaurant had opened at 10am, so he had probably missed him going into work. Now he was hoping to catch him on his way out, either for a break or to head home.
He stood there for hours, figuring he got there about noon, and it was approaching 4pm. He eventually got tired of making a show of it, walking back and forth to the corner, or pretending like he was waiting for someone. He got weird looks either way, so he ended up just leaning against the corner.
He fell asleep standing up. Not quite sure how that works, he'll think later.
Sounds filter in. Peter's used to having to ignore a bunch of sound due to his enhanced senses, and his brain has gotten good at bringing attention to things he needs to notice.
Like the sound of Charlie's voice on the phone. "Corner of Queens Boulevard and 40th. Yeah. Not sure what he'd react to better, if I'm honest. He knows me, but he thinks I've burnt him once before. I think if you were the one to wake him up, or if you were here, he might be less likely to bolt on us. Are you still in- shit. Okay. Let me see if-"
Peter cracks his eyes open, just a little, but Charlie is staring right at him, not more than five feet away, and notices immediately. He gets out an "I gotta go" before he hangs up the phone, and holds his hand out towards Peter consolingly.
"Hey, kid. Nice to see you again." Peter takes a step backward automatically. "Hey!" Charlie says urgently. "I just want to talk, Peter. That's it. You came to me, I think, right? That's why you're out here, where I work? Probably want to know why I've been looking for you."
Charlie takes a step forward, but stops when Peter takes two steps back. Disoriented, Peter's senses are going a bit haywire, and he can't think straight. This wasn't what was supposed to happen, but he's kind of foggy on how it was supposed to go down anyway. He just knows that he does want answers, so he nods.
Perhaps sensing Peter's disorientation, Charlie nods back, smiles at him, and doesn't move. "Looking a bit skinnier since I saw you last. You doing okay there, Peter?"
Peter's brain is slowly coming back online, so he knows the comment and question is either a distraction or a stall. He clears his throat. "Why have you been looking?"
Charlie chuckles disarmingly, though Peter can tell it's at least partly to try to put him at ease. "Ah, Pete. I was just concerned. Look, I know how it is, alright? I know that sometimes the street is better than the foster system. Now, I don't think that's necessarily the case for you- you should be getting ready for school here, not in the street. You're too smart for that- and such a good kid, I'm sure plenty of good families will want you. But I get it- I promise I won't involve a social worker unless you give the okay. I promise Peter." Charlie stopped then and studied him. "Can we sit down and talk a bit? I want to check in with you, see where you're at."
Paranoia has also come into focus along with everything else in Peter's brain. He narrows his eyes. "Then who was that on the phone? Come on, Charlie. You let every other kid slide past you when you know they've had… difficulties in care. Why not me? I appreciate you want to help, but you're not! I lost a decent job, and you know I'll likely have trouble finding someone else who will hire me, since it has to be under the table." Peter feels his voice choke out into nothing, and has to breathe deep to gain back control.
Charlie's words gain a sense of urgency. "But Peter, you ain't every other kid! You're way too smart for the streets. And I wasn't calling social services. Pete, you've got someone very powerful on your side! A friend of your Mom heard about what happened to them, then about what happened to you. I'm think they'll help you. I would help you hide myself if I didn't think this could be the exact thing you need right now."
Peter froze when his Mom was mentioned, then scoffed. "A friend of my Mom's? Charlie, I barely even remember my Mom. I seriously doubt someone would come forward now, when they hadn't before, to be some kind of benefactor. I think they're playing you." Peter rubbed at his eyes harshly, feeling near the end of his rope.
Peter has long since come to terms with the world as it is. Orphans don't end up with happy endings. He got lucky when May said yes to raising him last time, but even that took time. There was no rich relative from a far off land to come claim him, no millionaire who would fall for his cutesy charms and take him in. He thought he was safe with Ben and May. He should have remembered how easily it was all wiped away.
"Oh, kid." Charlie looked as distraught as Peter felt right then. He'd somehow gotten close enough to put a hand on his shoulder, and it was a bit of a grip as well. "You've been through the wars, I know. But listen, I trust this guy, okay? Do you think I'd tell him where you were at if I didn't? Come on, kid. If he tries anything, if he ain't good for you, I'll deal with him myself."
Peter shook his head. He noticed his breath had picked up substantially, and he was nauseous. He needed to get away. Now. "Not right now. Maybe later, I don't know. I gotta go, Charlie." Ripping out of Charlie's grip on his shoulder, he started walking backwards down the street. He needed to be sure Charlie wasn't going to chase him, but he felt like if he tried to run he'd pass out.
Taking a couple steps forward, Charlie's eyes were filled with panic. He reached his hand out, then seemed to catch himself and put his palm up. "Peter, just meet with him. You'll like him, I promise! Peter!"
Peter shook his head, and having enough space between them turned around to jog away. He needs to think on this. Mom's friend? She certainly never had people over, but left with Dad a lot on work trips. If he ever met any friend, he was too young to remember. They pretty much stuck with just Ben and May.
"Peter! It's Tony Stark!" Charlie called out from behind him.
Peter stopped and turned back around to him, but couldn't think of anything to say. Seriously? Bullshit. Charlie knew how big of a fanboy he was of the guy, was he that desperate for him to meet this friend that he'd lie?
Except he was in town. People had even seen him around Queens, according to gossip in Delmar's that he overheard.
He wanted to meet with Spider-Man.
Oh God. Did he know his identity? Made up this story about being friends with his Mom? Was he really not looking for Peter Parker, but knew they were one in the same?
He couldn't hear anything but his heart beating staccato in his chest. It felt like a heart attack. He looked back up in panic, and Charlie's mouth was moving, but he couldn't hear him. He was approaching again, palms up, trying to calm him. His eyes were worried.
Peter's body responded instinctively to all this- he turned and ran.