This is going to actually talk about the Great Depression a bit more...realistically? As in this is researched and factual information in a lot of ways, in regards to breadlines, standards on men and women, and that sort of thing in particular. My main source of information is 'A Square Meal' which talks about feeding America during the Great Depression as well as all of that kind of stuff, and it's pretty fucking fantastic. Like, seriously, if you're interested in this kind of thing *get the book*. It's amazing, has recipes, history, all sorts of things, so I highly recommend it.

Food is talked about in this chapter, so you might want a snack if you don't have one. We're making breakfast today, folks XD XD

Peter woke with a fuzzy feeling in his head, a gnawing hunger, and an oppressive heaviness in his limbs. He also found that he was warm and was lying on something soft. Something that almost felt like…

Peter pushed himself upright, almost immediately overbalancing as the blood rushed away from his head. He caught himself before he fell out of…bed. It really was a bed. There was a person sleeping on the floor next to him that he recognized as Miles only when Miles sat bolt upright and almost smashed his head into Peter's face. Peter pushed himself away from the oncoming collision, and wound up hitting his head on the wall instead, causing a ringing in his ears and the blurriness in his vision to compound. Miles was up and on his feet in almost an instant.

"Pete!" Miles called out, his voice filled with worry, his eyes wide. "I'm so sorry, are you okay? What happened? Was it a nightmare?"

"I'm fine," Peter slurred, rubbing his face. His arms were heavy, and he looked at them idly, only to freeze at the sight of what was on them. It looked as though they had been bandaged sometime during the day, odd gel packs wrapped around his forearms carefully with gauze. It was as he saw the wrappings that he realized the burning pain that had been the backdrop of his life since the spinnerets tore their way through his arms was gone.

Peter undid the bandages carefully, letting the odd blue things fall to the bed, and stared at the skin underneath. He idly felt as the bed sank next to him as Miles sat beside him, staring at him with wide eyes, and did his best to ignore Miles' staring. There was still some slight swelling around his spinnerets, but the bruising had mostly gone, his healing apparently having finally done its job. He flexed his wrist, rolling it, feeling the odd tug and pull from that spinneret, and then balled his hand into a fist before releasing it.

No pain.

Pete swallowed.

"Peter B noticed they were swollen," Miles said quietly, probably trying to keep quiet so his parents wouldn't notice. This apparently wasn't necessary as there was a sudden loud knocking on the door.

"Miles, Pete, are you okay in there?" Rio's voice called out. "Can we come in?"

Miles gave an immediate, "Come in!" after the inquiry. "Pete hit his head, but I think he's okay."

Rio and Mr. Davis entered together, looking around, and then focused on Peter. Peter realized he hadn't straightened from where he was lying against the wall and went to do so. Rio was there next to him suddenly, in his space, and Peter found himself flinching backwards, just barely avoiding hitting his head again. Rio gave an immediate apology, and Peter tried to hold still as she ran her hands over his skull.

"What happened, sweetie?" she asked, and Pete closed his eyes against the endearment. "Is everyone okay?" She had backed off after deciding his head was okay and was looking at him with worried eyes when he finally braved the idea of looking at her.

"Fine," Peter answered, fighting for his usual brusqueness and having difficulty finding it. "I wasn't expecting to wake up here." He said finally, frowning at the bed. "How did I get here?"

"Miles helped you. You were…well, do you remember waking up earlier?" Mr. Davis asked, and Peter felt the bottom of his stomach drop, his fingers tightening in the sheets and threatening to tear them, even as he refused to look his way. He relaxed his grip. He couldn't afford to buy new sheets right now; he couldn't afford to break anything. "You were pretty incoherent when it happened, I wouldn't be surprised if you don't remember. Miles took you to bed and you collapsed there, and you've been asleep since…" He frowned, looking at his watch and then at Rio. "About eleven?" he finally offered hesitantly. "It's seven in the morning now."

Peter felt his breath hitch in his throat, his eyes widening as the full implications of that hit him. Twenty hours. He'd been out of it for twenty hours. And he still felt as though, if he let himself, he could fall asleep for another twenty. Peter shoved himself out of bed, his limbs shaky, but he willed himself to stand, willed himself to not tremble, balling his hands into fists.

"I'm sorry," Peter said. "I didn't mean to…"

"No, no apologizing," Rio said, pointing her finger towards his chin. "There's no reason for you to apologize." She put her hand down, sighing, and finally rubbing her hands through her hair. "It's early, if you want to sleep…" Peter felt a knot twist in his stomach and apparently Rio could tell from his expression that the idea didn't appeal to him much in the slightest. He didn't know how he felt about that. Then again, he wasn't wearing his mask. Maybe he had more tells than he thought.

He'd have to work on that.

"Alright, well…Miles usually sleeps in a little longer…"

"No, it's okay, mom!" Miles said, sitting up properly and hiding a yawn. "I went to bed pretty early, I'm good. Besides, I get to say goodbye to dad before he leaves."

Sure enough, as Peter sent a look Mr. Davis' way, he found that Mr. Davis was fully dressed in his police uniform. The patterning and badges were just similar enough to send a shiver up his spine and make his spidersense prickle. Peter turned to face him, because putting his back to him suddenly felt like a terrible thing to do. Peter was suddenly, and painfully reminded of the fact that he had apparently spent twenty hours asleep in a house with a copper in it.

Somehow it felt like a betrayal.

Mr. Davis seemed to catch his gaze and then, to Peter's surprise, he shot a look at his uniform with a slight frown that pulled at the ends of his mustache. Mr. Davis gave them a brief nod, and then…stepped out of the room. Peter blinked. He hadn't expected that.

Peter turned his attention back to Rio who looked after her husband. She turned back to him and gave him a smile, which he also hadn't expected. It was his fault her husband couldn't be in the room with them, his stupid weakness… "Well, I was already up, would you boys like breakfast?"

Miles was up in a second, grinning as wide as he could, "Yes please!" he called out.

"You don't even get a say," Rio said, grinning at Peter with amusement in her voice. "You haven't eaten in twenty hours, and if you think for one second that I'm going to let that slide then you are wrong. We're going to have a big breakfast together."

Peter felt the urge to disappear into himself somehow but found himself moving toward the door without even really thinking about it. That would be twice now that they would make food for him, twice now that he would owe them for food, and he couldn't take advantage of that, even if they did seem well off. He stopped walking. Peter knew how much he could eat if given the opportunity, his body desperately working on keeping him alive, despite the metabolism, and he just…

"I can't…" he started.

"No! You absolutely can. If you would like to help me cook, then that's an option, but you're going to eat, and you are going to like it." She smiled at him, and carefully put a hand on his shoulder, turning him around and giving him a slight push out of Miles' room. Peter followed her prompting numbly. "We won't have anything spicy today. Jeff was thinking omelets; how does that sound?"

"Good!" Miles called out, grinning. "I'll whisk the eggs?" he offered.

"Sounds good, Miles, thank you for offering," Rio said, beaming. "Would you like to help me cut vegetables, Pete?" she asked.

"Yes, ma'am," Peter found himself saying quietly.

"Good! Alright, boys, let's make a feast!" she clapped her hands together happily, rubbing them briskly and then put them on Miles' and his own back, giving them a slight shove forward. Miles laughed, ducking out of her reach, and her own laughter followed as she went after him, still touching Peter's shoulder even as she swiped for Miles and failed. Miles laughed, walking backwards in order to gloat properly, but Rio just rolled her eyes, laughing herself, the sound happy and bright.

Peter had almost forgotten what that sounded like.

Mr. Davis was making coffee, he noticed, but it seemed the ingredients had all been laid out already, and Mr. Davis gave his wife and son a warm smile. Peter closed his eyes and tried to focus on that, tried to focus on the fact that Mr. Davis was a husband and a father, that he wasn't just a copper. The urge to run, to get away, the constant ringing of his spidersense that burned in the back of his skull like a bad headache was put away. Peter didn't want to gum up the works. This was a family. This was a group of people that had taken him in. He looked around, realizing that the other Spiders weren't there.

They all had lives. They couldn't stay in this universe with him, and they shouldn't be expected to. He looked at his watch, trying to remember how to contact them. He wanted to go home. He had to go home. Between the fact that the coppers in his own world would have started to examine…started to examine Curt, and probably followed that trail of destruction back to… Peter saw their bodies in his mind's eye for a moment, half eaten, Martha's face as it stared up at the ceiling in an unblinking stare…

He shook his head to clear it, trying to dislodge the expression on her face from his head. The complete acceptance on her face… There had been no fear. There had been no horror. Just…acceptance. Aching, brittle, as she stared up at what had been her husband…

Peter hadn't had time to really wonder at her expression, hadn't had the opportunity to think about it, about why she didn't pick up Billy and run. But really, he supposed it made sense. With her husband gone, Martha would be forced to work in a market where women just couldn't compete and wouldn't be able to earn the money necessary to feed herself and her child. And Peter…Peter had already proven that he couldn't really help.

He wouldn't have been enough.

"Peter?" Rio's voice asked, and Peter came to the realization that he had stopped moving.

"Sorry," he said, and moved to the counter briskly, looking for the knives to begin chopping some of the vegetables. He found a block that held them and pulled out a decent sized one. He pointed at the vegetables with it. "Diced?" he asked, and Rio, Miles, and Mr. Davis all hesitated, looked at each other, before Rio rallied with a smile.

"Yes, sweetie, that'd be good."

"Okay, sure." He took a breath and began working on what looked like a zucchini, being sure to keep his cuts nice and even, the rattle of the knife as he ran it down the length after cutting it into fourths a nice soothing sound. He knew this, he was used to this, he could do this. It was only after he began working his way through the squash that he noticed the complete lack of sound. He turned, blinking, to find them all staring at him with various levels of shock on their faces. "What?" he asked.

"I mean…I knew you had a lot of knives?" Miles started. "But I didn't know you could chop like that?"

"Yeah, that's some…wait, what do you mean he has a lot of knives?" Mr. Davis asked, looking at Miles.

Miles blanched, clearing his throat, before sending an apologetic look to Peter. "Well, I mean, when I was going to wash his coat, I realized he had…well…stuff in it. So, I put it in a laundry basket to wait until it was dry. There were, um…a lot of knives?" He moved his hands as though he wanted to put them in his nonexistent pockets and sent another apologetic look towards Pete.

"How many knives do you have?" Mr. Davis asked.

"Twenty-seven," Peter immediately answered.

"Twenty-sev…" Mr. Davis paused, staring at him with wide eyes. "Why the hell do you have so many knives?"

"Because I haven't stabbed them back, yet," Peter answered, also without thinking. Mr. Davis stared at him with wide eyes, putting a hand to his forehead, even as Rio and Miles both put a hand to their mouths. He paused. "I don't kill anyone with them…" he finally said, huddling slightly. "And they stab me, so it's only fair."

"…I'm just. Going to pretend we didn't have this conversation," Mr. Davis finally said softly. "You've got an amazingly steady hand when it comes to chopping vegetables." He decided on, nodding his head.

"My aunt and uncle operated a bread line," Peter finally responded after a moment, swallowing. He hadn't been planning on revealing much, but they were letting him stay and feeding him. He owed them.

"I thought…I thought you said you grew up in a Hooverville?" Rio asked.

"I did," Peter answered. "You don't have a childhood in a Hooverville and we only got out after my parents died." His mouth curled into what he knew was an ugly smile, "Life insurance," he said softly. "Can you fucking believe it? One of the last people to get it before it crashed completely. My daddy could provide for me better in death than he ever could in life. Regardless…we had enough that we were set up for a while, and we used it to try and help others that weren't as lucky. We'd go back, try and…" he trailed off. "Sorry, I'm rambling," he finally finished with, and looked back to the vegetables, his back stiff. "If you have a serrated knife it works better for the tomatoes," he said softly. "It cuts through the skin easier."

The silence stretched for a moment, before Rio walked over and pulled a serrated knife from a drawer to his right, putting it next to him.

"Thank you."

"You're welcome," Rio said, and went over to the stove, putting a skillet on the stove and putting a generous glug of olive oil into the pan, cranking the heat.

Miles was busy cracking as many eggs as possible into a bowl, whisking them together, throwing in some salt as he did so. When they were finally mixed, he put the bowl next to his mom, who smiled at him and pressed a kiss to his head. Peter had finished chopping a mountain of vegetables at this point, and passed them off to Rio, who dumped them in her heated pan and began sautéing them. Peter looked to Miles for direction on what to do next, and Miles grinned at him before moving over to grab some plates, pointing to the silverware drawer as he did so. Peter grabbed forks and knives, setting them to either side of the plates Miles placed. Peter felt as Mr. Davis walked up to them, putting cups down on the table.

"Do you drink coffee, Pete?" Mr. Davis asked.

Peter blinked at the question, and looked at the coffee pot, recognizing the rather generous amount there and finally nodded his head.

"Alright," Mr. Davis grinned at him, and went over to pour some in a mug, looking at him with a frown. "Do you take anything in it?"

Peter shook his head, "Black as blood," he said. Then blinked. "My blood."

"Is that actually a saying in your universe?" Mr. Davis asked, a smile reflecting his amusement. Peter nodded.

"You'll sometimes hear people say that their blood was replaced by coffee years ago," Peter answered. "Thing is, with some of these guys I'd actually believe it," he said, the slightest bit of a grin on his face.

"That's crazy," Miles said, grinning. "It replaced your blood yet?"

"Nah, I can't afford it," Peter answered. "If I had a chance, maybe."

"Like it that much?" Rio asked as she flipped an omelet onto a plate. Mr. Davis took it from her, putting it in front of Peter with a motion to dig in. Peter gripped the tablecloth as he sat there, forcing himself to wait.

"It keeps me warm," Peter shrugged slightly. Miles came over with his own omelet and began pouring a…sauce on it. "What's that?"

"Tabasco! It's…well, you probably won't like it." Miles rubbed at the back of his head, a slight grin on his mouth.

"Gonna kick me in the mouth again?" Peter asked with a slight smirk. Miles laughed.

"Yup," he answered. He took a bite as his dad sat down with his own omelet. Pete finally took a bite of his omelet and had to practically physically restrain himself from wolfing it down immediately. It was like after he took that first bite his body understood that it was finally going to be fed and it was very ready. He took his time, restraining himself, and made sure he finished after the first one to finish, which was Mr. Davis. After eating, Mr. Davis stood up and walked to the stove, trading places with his wife, who gave him a quick kiss and took her own omelet over to the table to eat. Mr. Davis began working on another omelet as Miles finished.

"Call it," Mr. Davis sang out, Miles immediately putting his hand up, before Mr. Davis snapped his fingers. "Wait, sorry, Miles, take it back. Sleeping Beauty gets the next one."

"Sleeping beat-to-shit, maybe," Peter immediately said, and Mr. Davis chuckled.

"Can't argue with that," he said. "Bring your plate, it's almost ready."

Peter did so after Miles waved at him to do so, grinning. He held it out when he got close enough and Mr. Davis put the omelet on his plate with a grin.

"Here you go," he said brightly, and leaned a bit closer, his expression full of mischief. Peter held his ground, tilting his head slightly. "Don't tell my wife," he said in a deliberately carrying voice, "but mine taste better than hers," he said with a wink. Peter felt a grin tug at his mouth around the same time that Rio let out a sharp protest.

"Disculpa, mis omelettes son fantásticos y saben maravilloso. Desearías poder cocinar algo tan sabroso y delicioso como yo!" Rio called out, rapid-fire Spanish that Peter frowned at slightly.

"Lo que tú digas, cariño," Mr. Davis responded in the same Spanish, grinning at her. "She's just jealous," Mr. Davis quietly said to him in English.

"Ha!" Rio made a gesture at him, and Peter finally just tilted his head slightly.

Peter brought the plate that held the omelet up to eye-level, looked at the omelet, frowned at it and then finally looked at him. "I think I could make one better than either of you."

Mr. Davis jolted slightly in surprise, before grinning at him big and wide. "Is that so?" he asked, raising an eyebrow and trying to look challenging.

"Oh-ho!" Rio called out, "a challenger appears!"

"Finish that, and we'll see if you can back it up," Mr. Davis said, gesturing to the omelet Pete was still holding. Peter nodded, walked back to the table and worked his way through the omelet, looking thoughtful. Mr. Davis finished a couple more omelets, Miles and Rio both coming to collect them. Peter stood up then and walked over to the stove as they finished.

"Alright," Mr. Davis said. "Show me what you got, kid."

Peter smirked slightly and took over. He put the stove on a higher heat, and began carefully re-whisking the eggs.

"Aw, you insulting my work, man?" Miles asked playfully, grinning.

"Nah, it's good, just re-aerating them," Peter answered, shaking his head. After adding more oil, he poured the egg mixture into the pan, and immediately began stirring it. Mr. Morales was behind him, and Peter moved his body a little, so he wasn't directly at his back. To his surprise, the man walked over to stand at the counter completely in his line of sight next to him.

"Mixing it up pretty quick, huh?"

"You want it fluffy?" Peter asked.

"Fair," Mr. Davis grinned.

After mixing it properly he spread the egg mixture out again in the pan, before adding the filling along the center. He didn't so much as fold as roll it up after giving it some time to heat up a bit, scooping it out of the pan and putting it on Mr. Davis' plate as he held it out. "Alright, boy, let's see what you got." He walked over to sit next to his wife and Miles. They cut it apart carefully, each taking a bite, and then froze.

"Yeah, he wins," Miles finally said.

"Miles!" Both of his parents chorused, Miles ducked, and Peter grinned slightly.

"Yeah, alright, you win this time, kid. Speaking of, I'm actually not that hungry anymore. Thank you all for breakfast," Mr. Davis kissed his wife, and gave a brief nod to Peter, before pressing a kiss to Miles' brow, Miles pulling back with an exasperated,

"Dad!"

Peter grinned slightly but looked at Miles with a raised eyebrow. "More?" he asked.

"I could," Miles answered, having already taken the rest of the omelet.

"Another growth spurt, Miles?" Rio asked with a raised eyebrow and a slight smile.

"…Maybe?" Miles offered.

"Well, there's plenty, you two boys finish that off," Rio said, indicating the rest of the eggs and the filling, which was a sizeable amount. Peter hadn't had access to this amount of food in years. He looked at Rio again, feeling the need to make sure, and she grinned. "Go on," she said.

Peter immediately got back to cooking. Rio came up finally, cracking her back and washing the two plates. Mr. Davis put Peter's mug of coffee next to him. "Thank you, Mr. Davis," he said, and took a brief sip of it. He hesitated, shooting a look at Miles briefly.

"Something on your mind?" Mr. Davis asked.

"I…" Peter hesitated. "It's none of my business," he finally settled on.

"Last name, thing?" Rio asked, leaning against the counter and giving him a gentle smile. Peter recognized that his skin was darkening, and he looked down. "It's okay, you're from the 1930s, right? I'm surprised you haven't asked more questions than you have."

Peter ducked his head slightly. "Where I'm from you don't ask," he finally said softly.

"Well that's not good. Otherwise how would you learn?" Mr. Davis asked, shrugging. "I don't mind a good honest question. It means you want to learn, and you're willing to try, and both of those things are very good things. In your case I definitely don't mind. There's a lot of years between us and a lot of things have absolutely changed. None of us take offense."

Peter hesitated, before nodding. "Where I'm from sometimes knowing is what leads to trouble," he finally responded. "My circle… You just don't ask. It's dangerous. It can get your loved ones hurt."

"What's your circle, Peter?" Rio asked. Peter shot her a look, one that he knew had more distrust in it than he wanted to show, his eyes shooting to her husband, and then away again.

Mr. Davis tilted his head back, frowning. "You socialist, Peter?" he asked. Peter felt his blood turn to ice, and he immediately turned away from the stove to stare at him, the spatula held in such a way that he could fling it and run if he had to. He still didn't want to hurt him. Mr. Davis held his hands up carefully, his expression gentle. "Hey, hey, it's okay. It was just a guess, based on what you told us and what your parents were up to, how your family immediately turned around with the money you had and tried to use it to give to others. It's alright. You won't find people trying to hurt you or otherwise arrest you for that now. You're safe. I certainly wouldn't try and arrest or otherwise hurt you, either, Peter. It's okay."

Peter felt his muscles slowly loosen, his head tilting away slightly as he stared at him, and finally he turned the stove off, moving the omelet to the side, before sitting down on the floor. That was a lot to process, a sudden removal of pressure in a way that he would never have expected. "It's just fine?" he asked finally.

"Yeah. There are quite a few people that would even share your stance. You're not hunted anymore. People aren't giving away other political parties in order to have others arrested or otherwise deported. You're perfectly safe here." Mr. Davis sighed. "Your entire family, huh?" he asked.

"Yes," Peter finally said after a long pause. "Grew up like that. I thought at one point that the world would be better if people just…" he hesitated.

"Were socialist, too?" Rio asked.

"Yeah," he finally answered.

"What do you think now?" Mr. Davis asked.

"People are sick," Peter answered. "There's no curing it. We're all fucked."

Rio looked at Mr. Davis, who looked back.

"I don't think you're…well…that…" Miles said suddenly, and Peter looked at him over his shoulder. "I don't think my parents are, either, and, well, I try not to be, too. I do think that a lot of people can be bad, but I also think…there's people doing their best to help, too…"

Peter smiled slightly, before giving a little nod. "You're right. In your world…in your world you can give people the benefit of the doubt. In mine, I guess…" he hesitated. "You know people would rather kill you than let you be an officer in my world?" he asked, looking up at Mr. Davis, his mouth pulling down at the edges, his heart twisting as he said it.

"I bet," Mr. Davis returned. "Would you?"

Peter jerked. "Never."

"Well…I guess there's good people where you're from, too."

Peter blinked.

Mr. Davis smiled at him warmly. "My wife wanted to keep her last name," he finally said, answering the question that Pete hadn't really asked. "My son wanted to take her last name. I have no issue with either. It's a partnership, not an ownership, and I love them both. Besides, I've got the ring to show I'm committed and the birth certificate to prove that he's my son," he said, nodding to Miles, and wiggling the ring on his finger pointedly with his thumb. Rio laughed and wiggled her own ring as well.

"You'd be amazed how many times this gets people to back off," Rio said with a bright smile. "I'm loyal to my husband and he's loyal to me, and that's good enough for both of us. Partnership, not ownership."

Peter hesitated, and finally found himself smiling as gently as possible. "I like that," he said. "It's nice. It…" he hesitated, rubbing his face. "You know, we ran a breadline, right?" He asked, his head tilting slightly, waiting for confirmation. "You know who would never stand in line?"

"Who?" Rio asked, her head tilting.

"Women." Peter frowned. "Women would never come to stand in breadlines, and…it wasn't because there weren't women that were starving or women that were homeless, it was…" Peter sighed. "To stand in a breadline meant that you didn't have a husband or a boyfriend that could take care of you. To stand in a breadline meant you were a failure. Women would literally rather faint in the middle of the street, or starve, than…than prove that they couldn't get a man. It didn't matter what you tried, right? At one point my aunt thought that if we made the place extra nice, made it something that looked more like a café than something industrial it might attract the right crowd. The only thing it attracted were looters and rock throwers." Peter was aware that he was frowning, and he looked away. "It's nice that…it's nice that it's not like that anymore."

"So, men would stand with or without a family?" Miles asked, sitting next to him, his eyes narrowed in confusion.

"Mostly they would stand when they had a family," Peter answered, shaking his head.

"Oh, why?"

"Because even if it was admitting that they were a failure as a man and a provider, they'd at least be able to bring food back to their families." Peter gestured blankly. "It's your job, you have to provide. If that means sacrificing all of your pride and dignity to stand in that damn line, then you do it. You can't just think of yourself." He hesitated. "Men would stop coming at times. I realized later that they'd killed themselves. Too much chipping away at what they were supposed to be, too much failure. If you can't provide for your family, then what use are you?" he grinned. "But if you have that life insurance…maybe you can provide that way. It didn't work that way. But desperation is never pretty."

Rio was on the floor in front of him before he even registered her moving. She put both her hands on his shoulders, and after Peter didn't flinch or otherwise react, she pulled him close and wrapped him in a hug. Peter was frozen.

"I'm sorry," Rio said softly into his hair. "That's so much death to grow up with. That's so much weight to carry."

"I'm used to it," Peter said softly. "Besides, I'm not sure if you noticed, but I'm actually really strong?" He felt it as the joke fell flat, and he curled up slightly.

"You shouldn't have to lift that weight on your own," Mr. Davis said.

"He's right."

"Well," Peter shrugged. "Unfortunately, I'm all I got."

"Not anymore," Miles said, his eyes determined.

Peter blinked, looking at him, and then looking at the goober on his wrist. For the first time it really struck him that maybe that was true. Maybe he did have other people. Maybe there was more to it than death.

The sudden ringing of Peter's goober surprised them, and Rio pulled back, looking at it. Peter stared at it for a moment, looking for something to pick up, a headset or something he could use, and then finally noticed the flashing button on the side. With some hesitation he pressed it, and a static crackle filled the room, before:

"Pete, can you hear me?"

It was Peni.

"Hello, Peni, yes, I can hear you," Peter answered.

"Good! Are you with Miles, Jeff, and Rio?" she asked.

"I am," Peter said. "The others all went home. What's up?"

"My aunt and uncle would actually like to talk to Jeff and Rio really quickly if they don't mind?"

"If it's supposed to be a private call, I can't really take off the goober…" Peter said, rubbing the back of his head. "Is that okay?"

"Sure!" Peni said, brightly, her voice beaming. "They just want to say hello, actually, and I think hearing from you would be good, too."

"Alright," Peter agreed. "Do you have time?" he asked Mr. Davis, who checked his own watch before giving a brief nod.

"I've got a bit of time left before I have to go to work, Peni, so now should be okay."

"You work on a Saturday?" Peni gasped.

Mr. Davis laughed. "I'm a police officer, Peni, my weekends are all over the place depending on my schedule."

"Oh, I guess that makes sense," Peni said. "Okay, well, my aunt and uncle are here. I'll just…let you chat with them, I guess."

"Okay, Peni, it was nice to hear from you, did you get Gwen home safely?" Rio asked.

"I did!" Peni chirped, "Goodbye, I'll talk to you later!"

"Goodbye, Peni," came the general chorus, before another voice sounded.

"Hello, is this Rio and Jeff?" a female voice asked, clipped and polished. Aunt May, but an Aunt May he hadn't heard before.

"It is," Mr. Davis agreed, "Though Pete and Miles are both here, too."

"Miles being your son, and Pete being the one that isn't human?"

Peter felt his blood turn to ice in his veins. It wasn't like she was wrong, but he had never had someone toss it in his face quite so callously before. He'd never felt quite so judged for it, either.

"Pete being the one that saved my son and gave a piece of his soul for your daughter, yes," Rio responded very coolly.

"Ah, yes, souls," Aunt May responded, sounding vaguely like she didn't believe him, and that made anger boil within him. A hand on his shoulder surprised him, and he turned to see Miles, glaring at the watch.

"If you'd seen what happened, you wouldn't be so quick to throw shade," Miles said, his voice thick with anger.

"You're Miles, I assume?" Aunt May asked.

"Yeah, that's me," Miles answered, still puffed up, his mouth tugging into a frown.

"You might be right," she sighed suddenly, and Miles visibly deflated. "Regardless, I've never seen anything quite like Pete's biology, so something is very strange with him. If it's because of some god thing, then…well, weirder things have happened I suppose." She sighed. "I'm to understand that you took care of my adopted daughter for a while, and that she's grown to be friends with your son and the other 'Spiders'?"

"That's correct," Mr. Davis responded. "She's welcome here anytime, as well. Having seen them all together, they've got an amazing connection. It'd be terrible to split them, I think, might even be unhealthy. They belong together."

"I've noticed a shift in Peni's brainwaves," a male voice agreed, probably Uncle Ben, though he, too, sounded different. "Her spidersense has sharpened slightly. With Gwen it was two times as sharp, which I assume would mean that adding another Spider would lead to even more productivity."

"I…would guess so?" Rio said, looking at her husband. "But they also just really have a wonderful friendship."

"I'd like to have her spend the night again," Miles said.

"And you don't have spider powers, is that correct?"

"Miles belongs with the group," Peter found himself saying, the first words he had spoken, only just now registering the slight hiss rising in the back of his throat. "We've already been at their house and we're welcome, so it's a good meeting point. It doesn't matter about the level of 'productivity' increasing."

"You would say that, of course," Aunt May said simply. "It's hardly like you have any responsibilities, being the homeless vigilante that you are. You're from what, the 1930s? What on earth did you have to deal with?"

Peter was on his feet in an instant. For just a moment the urge to jump into her universe and show her precisely what he had to deal with was strong, but it was compounded with the accusations and the one thing that Pete had avoided saying. The words stung, sharp needles digging into his soul.

"The 1930s were the Great Depression," Mr. Davis suddenly spoke up, his voice as cold as Peter had ever heard it. "I don't know what that word means in your time, but here it means something that isn't very good. It's a disease of the mind that can literally lead to people killing themselves, ma'am. A disease that gets rid of all hope and makes people think that they have nothing to live for. If you can sit there and state that a time period that was named after that disease is nothing to deal with then I have nothing more to say to you. If you could honestly look at the picture that was sent to you and tell me that that kid hasn't given himself body and soul for the people in his world… Peni is still welcome here, and among the Spiders, but I won't be taking any more calls from you."

There was a surprised gasp from the other end, followed by a long pause, before a quieter voice responded. "I'm sorry," May said. "You're right. I did see the picture, and I did make some fast judgements based upon what I heard and what I saw. I apparently was wrong in my initial estimation and I apologize. I will not apologize for wanting her to be productive. She has a job to do, Pete, she has people that she must report to, people that aren't me, and the better she is at her job…" There was a pause. "She's the only one that can pilot the mech. There is a lot of weight on her shoulders, and I want to help her with it in whatever way I can, even if that way is to bring others to aid her. I'm not cruel," she said. "I'm just… The universe just got so much bigger. It's up to me to make sure that she's prepared for it."

"You can lose your job and Peni gets passed onto someone else if she can't perform to expectations," Pete sighed, rubbing his face.

"…Yes. You're quick," she said begrudgingly.

"I have to be."

"Yes, well…" she sighed. "You're a potential threat, from what I understand."

"Yes," Peter agreed.

"I'd hate to be the one to tell her to put you down, so let's do our best to stay human, shall we?" she asked him, her voice falsely bright.

"You said it yourself, I'm not human," Peter's voice was cold.

"You're right, I did." May hesitated. "I also understand that she cares about you deeply. I don't want her hurt."

"Neither do I," Peter answered. "If I was going to be a threat to Peni or any of the others… I'd put myself down."

"That's something else that she mentioned," Ben said, his voice thoughtful. "I hope it doesn't come to that."

"None of us do," Rio said, putting her hand on Peter's shoulder, squeezing tight.

"Well…alright, now that we understand each other…" May sighed. "I'm willing to allow her to join you all for sleepovers and…I don't know what to call them, playdates? Peni is working on a prototype method to connect your…what are they, cellphones, I believe, they're called…to us and allow for a more direct method of communication, Jeff and Rio. We'll otherwise be in touch that way, I think." There was a pause and a heavy sigh. "Pete…thank you for taking care of Peni."

"Anytime, ma'am," Peter said, slowly losing the frown.

"Right… Goodbye," she finally said, and hung up.

"What an…interesting women," Rio said finally, her mouth tugging into a frown.

"Mm…that's one word for it," Mr. Davis said, an eyebrow rising, before he looked to Peter. "Pete…" he sighed. "Pete, I have to…I have to ask. Are you really homeless? You haven't been…I don't know, using food money to pay for your rent, or…" he trailed off, and Peter didn't know what his face was doing, but he had a feeling that it had betrayed him utterly. "Aw, Pete…" he said softly.

"I can take care of myself," Peter answered stiffly, straightening. "It's not like I…it's not like I can just live in an apartment complex or…or among a bunch of people. What am I supposed to do? Give my soul for every individual that lives with me?" he asked, and his voice was getting heated. "I can put up a web wherever I need to, and I can be on the run easier, and I can…I can…" he trailed off, finding himself facing the burning shame of suddenly having three pairs of eyes stare at him with something that could only be pity. His head sunk into his shoulders, a snarl starting to curl up his mouth. "I don't need your pity, I'm fine."

"Oh, Pete…" Rio said softly, looking at her husband. "It's not…it's not pity. I just…I want better for you."

"Well, I can't have better," Peter answered stiffly. "I don't have the means and I don't have the lettuce and I don't…" he rubbed his face in frustration. "It doesn't matter, I'm fine."

"You could always stay here…" Mr. Davis started. Peter felt his hackles rise, a hiss building up in him, and finally released as he ripped the watch from his wrist.

He felt as the glitch tore its way through his body without warning, splintering him in a billion different directions even as it forced a cry of pain out of his mouth, falling to his hands and knees. It was hot and cold and sharp and soft, digging in, reaching deep into his soul and tearing him open from the inside out. It felt like dying. When it finally stopped, he was in a ball on the ground, and Rio, Mr. Davis, and Miles were all around him on their knees, hands held out as though to touch him.

Peter put the watch back on his wrist in a deliberate motion, before finally pushing himself upright with shaking limbs.

"I don't belong here," he said. "You can put me in a bed, feed me, whatever you'd like, but the fact remains that I can't stay here. Your world doesn't want me. Mine's a shithole, but it's home. I have to go back."

There was a pause.

"Yeah," Mr. Davis finally agreed with a slow nod, and finally began to push himself back to his feet, sighing. "And I've got to go to work…" he looked at his watch again and then finally brought Rio close for a brief kiss, before ruffling Miles' hair. He looked at Peter then again, his expression thoughtful. "Take care of yourself, kid. You should probably finish those omelets."

Peter had a moment where he wanted to shrink into himself, something hot and awful welling up in the pit of his stomach that made him want to apologize, or… Peter was so tired.

Mr. Davis turned and walked away, and Peter found himself looking at the stove and the remains of the vegetables and the eggs that had been such a pleasing breakfast earlier. Now…Peter could still eat, he had a feeling he could always eat, but he found he didn't really want to. Rio had left the room to say goodbye to her husband, and Miles was the only one left with him.

Peter took a breath and turned to face Miles. He had the feeling it would be a long day.