Notes :

Remember how I said at the end of last chapter that blond Peter was a tribute to Spider-verse? Well, it was true (and it still is)… but it's not the only reason.

May 2012

"That's him," said the social worker.

She handed a file to Sarah. On it was the picture of a miserable looking blond boy, no older than 10. The information about him was scarce; the file contained only his name, the rest blank spaces, asking to be filed.

"That's all you have on him?" asked Bob, after stealing a look to the file over his wife's shoulder.

"Benjamin is brooding a lot. He doesn't speak much. It took a full day just to get his name."

Bob looked skeptical, but his wife couldn't tear her eyes away from the picture. The social worker sighed.

"Listen, I know you said you wanted to take a break, but I contacted you for the great work you've done with foster children in the past. The kid needs support and stability, and we can't provide the proper care here. It would only be temporary, until we can find his parents… or a better solution," she trailed off.

Sarah looked up at the social worker.

"What do you mean?"

"His parents might… We don't know exactly what happened to them. Benjamin was alone when he was found by the police in Queens, two days ago. We think he must have been in Manhattan with his parents during the attack, somehow got separated from them and tried to go home by himself."

A pang of sadness crossed Sarah's expression as she understood the implications. Bob wasn't insensitive either. The social worker saw an opening and pushed harder.

"You would be a great help if you accepted to foster Benjamin. Not only for us, but for him."

Sarah took her husband's hand and just like that they had agreed, without needing any further communication between each other.

"Let's meet him," he said.

The social worker walked them through a gym that served as a refugee center. The place was filled to the rim with people from all backgrounds, waiting to be assigned a temporary home until theirs was rebuilt. The place was heavily charged with emotion. There were a lot of heartwarming reunions between friends and families who finally managed to find each other after hazardous separations due to the attack, and there were just as many people mourning the loss of a home or a loved one.

At the center of all this chaos, the kid was sitting all alone on a makeshift mattress, his back to them, legs gathered up and chin resting on his knees.

"Benjamin?" called the social worker.

Nothing in his demeanor indicated that he so much as heard her.

"Benjamin Reilly?" she tried again.

This time the kid jumped. When he turned to them, Sarah was expecting to see…. She didn't know what she expected exactly. Tears, probably. But certainly not the completely blank face she was met with. It was a stark contrast with the picture of the boy she still had in hand.

Benjamin fixated his gaze on the social worker, oblivious to the couple standing just behind her.

"This is Sarah and Bob Abbott," she introduced, gesturing respectively at them. "They are going to foster you for a while."

Only then did the kid seem to notice them both. He turned a scrutinizing gaze at them, to which Sarah answered with a warm smile.

"And what if I don't want to?" he asked.

The couple exchanged a look. Not because of the content of Benjamin's words, but because his tone was completely flat, just as emotionless as his face.

The social worker looked embarrassed by his question. It was the first time he spoke as many words in a few days —that much was clear judging by the roughness of his voice—and she probably had not been expecting any kind of opposition on his part.

"So what, you prefer to wait here until someone comes for you?" she asked gently.

Benjamin shrugged, turning his eyes away.

"This is not a place for you. You will be better off with people to take care of you. It'll only be for a while anyway, until we can find your family. As soon as we find them we'll send them your way. You'll be the first to know. Is that alright with you?"

"Do I have a choice?" he asked, still refusing to look at the adults.

"It would really be better if you went with them. Staying here wouldn't be good for you," was the worker's way to softly imply that, no, he didn't have a say in this.

The boy seemed to ponder for a bit, then got up and grabbed his backpack before swooping it on his shoulder. And just like that he was ready to go.

"You sure you have everything?" asked Sarah.

Benjamin nodded. Sarah smiled once more and guided him towards their car, while Bob hung back with the social worker.

"If you manage to learn anything about him — a date of birth, a school, a phone number — please forward the information to us. Anything would help speed the process. We haven't been able to dig up anything on him so far and he's not the only child affected by the attack we have to care for."

"Yes, of course."

Bob shook hands with the social worker.

Sarah was already sitting in the back of the car next to Benjamin when Bob joined them. He sat behind the steering wheel and turned to the boy.

"So, champ', wanna go grab something to eat?"

Benjamin shook his head. He was obstinately watching the parking lot through the window.

"Sure?"

Bob looked at him expectantly, but the kid didn't answer. So Bob turned to his wife.

"Sarah — burger?"

"I'm down for it!"

"Burger it is!" Bob replied cheerfully as he turned the ignition on.

As they drove to the restaurant, they chatted casually, trying to include Benjamin in the conversation. But the kid either ignored them, or was just too lost in his thoughts to realize he was spoken to. The couple kept a jovial tone as they conversed, attempting to lighten the mood and establish a relaxed atmosphere. But the look they exchanged in the rear mirror said everything they weren't verbalizing: the state the boy was in was worrying.

"A table for three, please," asked Sarah to the waitress who welcomed them.

She guided the little group to their seats and handed a menu to each of them before scurrying away to take care of another table.

Sarah opened hers and diligently looked through it in search of her meal. Bob already knew he wanted a double cheeseburger; he only read the carte to make sure that his choice, his usual order, hadn't been replaced by a sudden craving for something new. He cast a quick glance at Benjamin, who was sitting in front of him. The boy had laid his menu down on the table without even looking at it.

"What will you take, Benjamin?" Bob asked nonchalantly, pretending he hadn't noticed.

Benjamin startled but didn't answer verbally. He just shook his head, keeping it down. Bob was concerned about the kid. He hadn't looked at them once, or uttered a single word since they met at the refugee center. Bob finally lowered his menu.

"I know things have been rough for you lately, but you gotta speak up, son," he said softly.

The boy started fidgeting. He shook his leg, played with his fingers, looked everywhere but at the adults and pinched his lips before he was eventually ready to say something.

"Er… I'm not—" he cleared his throat, "I'm fine. I'm not hungry."

Sarah folded her menu.

"You should eat something, sweetie. It's alright if you can't finish your meal, just take something you like."

The waitress was back at their table right as Sarah finished her sentence.

"Have you made your choice? What can I bring you?" she smiled, ball pen and notepad at the ready.

"A double cheeseburger and a coke for me."

"I'll take a coke too, and a chicken burger with extra sauce."

The three adults then looked expectantly at Benjamin, waiting for his answer, forcing him to open the menu and speed through it.

"Er… A small french fries. Please."

"All right!" the girl exclaimed, enthusiastically.

She finished noting the orders, tapped the end of her pen on the scratch paper to retract it and walked away with the gathered menus.

An awkward silence fell back over the table. Sarah and Bob exchanged a look, wondering how to gather information about that child without breaking him even more than he already was. They had previous experience with foster care, sure, and they had their fair share of difficult children, including traumatized ones. But every single kid was unique. A word that might comfort one could trigger a violent reaction in another. Each new child they took under their wing was a clean slate that reset everything they had learned so far about parenting. There was no golden road to healing, except time; which they couldn't afford to take too much of, for the kid's sake.

Sarah took the initiative.

"So…Is there anything you'd like to do after lunch?"

The kid shrugged once more.

"Maybe go to the zoo? What do you think about that?" she suggested tentatively.

No more answer than a bouncing leg.

"Or maybe we could go see your friends at your school? Would you like that?" added Bob.

This time the kid froze.

"Bob," whispered Sarah, "maybe we should give him a few days to adjust first."

"I know… but I thought it would do him some good to spend some time with his friends. And we could also get his parents' contact information at the same time. Two birds, one stone."

"It's very good thinking, but not… — Benjamin?"

The boy had thrown his head back against the back of the booth and was pressing the heels of his hands against his eyes.

"Oh no, I'm sorry kid, I didn't think… We don't have to go if you don't want to," apologized Bob.

"Are you okay? Do you need anything?" worried his wife.

But Benjamin didn't say anything. After staying immobile for a short while, he sighed and straightened up. When he removed his hands from his face, his eyes were surprisingly dry. He wasn't crying, contrary to what the couple believed at first.

The change in his behavior was like day and night. The kid wasn't fidgeting anymore, wasn't avoiding them. For only the second time since they met, he looked the two adults in the eye when he spoke.

"I'm sorry about what I said earlier. At the center," he said with an assured voice. "It wasn't against you, but you didn't deserve it anyway. You two look like you are great people."

The couple was taken aback. Of all things that could have happened, they certainly did not expect apologies from the boy. It was like they were facing an entirely different person.

Sarah was the first to recover.

"It's ok, sweetie, you have the right to be upset. It's understandable. You don't have to apologize."

"It's not about that, it's just…" And there it was. Benjamin's confidence was slowly fading again. He averted his gaze. "I— I don't want to bother you, guys. I'm sure you have better things to do than taking care of a random kid."

This angered Bob, but he managed to keep his tone under control.

"Listen. You're here because we want you to be. No one is forcing us."

"We know you're going through some hard times," — the kid closed his eyes at that — "but we want to help you. Can you accept that?"

Benjamin thought for a while, then sighed once more.

"I guess… Thanks. Really," he smiled.

The smile didn't show any teeth, nor did it reach his eyes. But it was more emotion than he had shown up until that point, apart from discomfort, so it warmed Sarah's heart nonetheless.

"No problem. Really," she replied with a genuine smile.

"Here we go," said the waitress as a small portion of fries was laid done in front of Benjamin. She finished emptying her tray before leaving them with a cheerful, "Enjoy your meal."

The couple started eating heartily, while the boy seemed to have just enough willpower to grab his first fry, without being able to do any more. One hand supporting his head, a fry in the other, he played around with it.

"Benjamin?"

"Sorry. I'm really not hungry."

"Eat at least one. You can stop after."

Very reluctantly, Benjamin brought the fry to his mouth. Then took a second. And a third. A fourth. The whole content of his carton disappeared soon after.

"Well, that was surprisingly fast," commented Bob, who had not even finished the first half of his burger. "Want some more?"

"…Yes."

He ate two more burgers and followed that with a big ice cream. The Abbotts refused to let him pay his share when he dug out twenty dollars from his bag.

Benjamin wasn't feeling like going anywhere after lunch, so they came right back home. Sarah and Bob figured that letting the kid calmly settle down wasn't such a bad idea after all.

"Here we are," said Bob as he opened the door of their upper west side apartment. He invited the kid in. "I'll show you around."

They entered a wide open space, a mix of a well furnished living room area and open kitchen. The walls were adorned with rows and rows of shelves of books, framed pictures and children's drawings everywhere a wall was window-free. An entire shelf was dedicated to a wide variety of board games, while video game consoles from different brands were displayed on the TV stand below a huge flat screen. As he walked in, Benjamin's eyes flew wide open.

"A bit more and your eyes pop right out of their sockets," scoffed Bob.

"Don't be impressed," reassured Sarah as she closed the door behind her. "This is your home for the time being, so don't hesitate to make yourself comfortable."

"You can leave your shoes here," indicated Bob as he took off his own. He walked around the living room. "We got books, comics and all the board games you'd want. Same thing for video games, but play time is restricted, so ask first." He then walked to the kitchen. "Glasses are in this cabinet; sodas are here in the fridge. If you're hungry for a snack, just ask any one of us. Although you should know that the 'no eating an hour before a meal' rule applies in this family."

All the while, Benjamin stayed immobile near the door, intimidated.

"It's alright, you can take a look around. You won't break a thing," smiled Sarah as she plugged her phone on the kitchen bar. "You come from a modest family?"

Probably too occupied with taking in the room, the kid said nothing.

"Come, I'll show you your room. Maybe we could pick some clothes that fit you better while we're at it. Looks like we could fit three of you in yours."

Benjamin bent down and unzipped his shoes before he joined Bob, who was waiting for him near a door in the corridor facing the entrance.

"And maybe he could take a shower if he wants to, I don't know if he had access to one at the center," called Sarah from the kitchen.

"What do you say kid?" Bob asked Benjamin.

The boy nodded and Bob opened the door. They entered a small room with a bare twin-sized bed against a wall. More shelves with books and toys completed the living room collection. A ray of light, partially broken by the desk located right below the window, fell onto the floor. Between the bed and the huge closet was an open, empty chest with the key on the lock.

Bob walked in, Benjamin following more hesitantly on his steps.

"This is all yours during your stay. That's your bed. You got paper and pencils in the desk if you want to draw. This chest," he said pointing at it, "is your secret space. Anything you put in there is yours only. We won't look inside it."

"Why?" asked Benjamin, suspicious.

The kid had been so quiet since they left the restaurant that Bob had almost forgotten he could speak at all.

"Why the chest?" Bob was confused.

"Why would you give me something like that?"

"Well… Everyone needs their secret space, don't they?"

The kid looked dubious. Bob crouched in front of him to get to eye level, which seemed to make him uncomfortable.

"Listen, you seem like a smart kid, so I'll be honest with you. You're far from being the first child we've fostered. And some of them had… A rough history with foster families. Turns out allowing a private space like this chest proved to them we're not looking to control them and that we're respecting them as people. Some of them had never known that before, you know… In turn, they grew to trust us, blossomed, and the teenagers that were deemed 'lost causes' are now in college," he revealed, voice swollen with pride. "All of that thanks to the help of the secret chest. So yes, we would give you something like that," he finished.

"The key," Benjamin pointed towards the chest with a movement of his head, "is it the only one?"

"Yes."

Benjamin studied him.

"Satisfied?" asked Bob after the silence had drawn out too long.

The kid seemed to relax a little and nodded.

"Good," Bob smiled, rising up and shuffling Benjamin's hair on the way.

He then turned to the closet and opened it, showcasing many boxes.

"These are clothes. You can wear anything you like, although these —" he picked up a box at Benjamin's eye level and put it at the boy's feet before opening the lid, "—should be your size. The rest of the other boxes might be too big or too small on you."

The box contained everything from underwear to street jacket. You name it, the box had it. Each item was in small quantity; but it was enough to sustain a boy's need for a few days.

"Go ahead, pick what you want," Bob invited.

Benjamin rolled up his sleeves to free his hands from the ridiculously long fabric of the oversized hoodie he was wearing and grabbed pants, a t-shirt, socks and underwear without bothering to look at them.

"Ok?" Bob asked as Benjamin straighten up, clothes held tight against him.

The boy nodded.

"Any question?"

The boy shook his head.

"Bathroom is right across your room. You'll find soap and towels pretty easily. Do you need any help to wash?"

The tip of Benjamin's ears reddened.

"Nah, I'm good."

"All right then, I'll leave you to it. Just don't lock the door. We won't come in, it's just in case of emergency."

"Ok."

"See you later, kid."

Bob left the room and joined Sarah, who was working on her laptop on the couch. He pretended to busy himself until the kid had closed the bathroom door behind him.

"What do you think?" Sarah asked as soon as they could hear the water running, her computer forgotten.

Bob leaned against the bar and crossed his arms.

"I don't know. He seems really closed off. I don't know if it's due to the trauma or if it's just him."

"Poor child. .."

Bob joined his wife, crouched in front of her and took her hand in his. His eyes locked with hers.

"Hey, it's gonna be ok. Remember little Ian?"

Sarah smiled at the name.

"He was in a worse state. He wouldn't even say a word," reminded Bob. "And look where he is now."

Their smile widened.

"And Benjamin? He looks really sharp."

"Yes, I noticed."

"I'm sure he'll get better in no time."

"I hope he will…"

Bob squeezed her hand tighter and stood up.

"Alright, I gotta go now. Office doesn't wait. Will you be ok?"

"Yes, don't worry."

Bob went to their room to change into a suit, before coming back to the living room to collect everything he needed in his briefcase.

"I'll call work to tell them I'm taking the rest of the week off," Sarah informed him as he was putting his shoes on.

Bob went back to her and gave her an affectionate kiss to the forehead.

"I love you."

"I love you too."

"See you this evening!" Bob called loud enough to be heard through a loud shower, just before the door shut behind him.

Calm returned to the apartment, contrasting with Bob's last minute shuffling. Only the soothing running of the shower could be heard. Sarah went to Benjamin's room to prepare his bed. She noticed the secret chest was closed, and the key had vanished from the lock. Sarah smiled at the sight. She then got back to the living room, gave a quick call to her boss, then turned on the TV on the news channel, lowered the sound to a whisper in the background, and finally got back to work.

After twenty minutes, the shower was still flowing. Sarah got up, concerned.

"Benjamin?" She asked softly, knocking on the bathroom door.

No answer. Sarah looked behind her into the kid's room, just in case Benjamin would have gotten out of the bathroom without her realizing it. The door was wide open, offering a clear view on the empty room. She turned her attention back to the bathroom, listened closely. She could hear nothing but the water splashing on the tiling.

"Benjamin?" She asked again, louder this time, banging on the door.

But there was still no answer. Heart in her throat, she grabbed the handle.

The water stopped.

"Benjamin? Are you ok?"

"Yes! Yes, I'm fine. Sorry."

Sarah held back a sigh of relief and let go of the handle.

"I'm in the living room. Call if you need anything."

As the kid did not answer, she retreated to the couch. Benjamin joined her a few minutes after.

He was quite a sight; seeing him dressed in clothes his size, instead of hidden in a pile of fabric, revealed how small he truly was. He looked like a weird combination of scrawny but fit, if such a thing was even possible. He walked in hesitantly, playing with his nails, his blond locks dripping into his eyes.

"Uh… Mrs. Abbott? I overheard your conversation… I'm sorry you had to take the week off for me. You don't have to," he said, apologetic.

"Hey now, you shouldn't have to worry about that. I was due a holiday anyway." She put down her computer next to her. "So, what do you want to do? We could play a game. Take a look at the shelf and choose anything you like."

"Sure," he replied, his tone anything but assured.

Sarah followed him with her eyes as he moved through the room. He stood in front of the shelf for a while, pretending to look at the countless box of board games. Eventually, under the weight of Sarah's stare, he half turned to her.

"Uh, actually… I don't really feel like talking."

"Oh." Sarah sat up slightly straighter. "Yes. I guess you don't. We don't have to, if you don't want to. What would you like to do instead?"

Benjamin moved to the book section of the shelf.

"These ones might be too difficult for you," Sarah pointed out when she noticed the boy was looking at a shelf almost out of his reach, displaying literature too complicated for an eight-year-old looking boy.

Benjamin sighed, and settled for a Star Wars art book. He turned around, the book a massive tome in his tiny hands, in search for a place to sit. He ended up on the couch with Sarah, at the opposite end.

Since the kid was not up to talk, Sarah returned her computer to her lap. They shared the afternoon in silence — him reading, her working. However, she kept watch on Benjamin from time to time out of the corner of her eye.

She almost cursed out loud when she noticed Benjamin's attention was turned to the TV, which had been running footage of Midtown Manhattan in loop all afternoon. She grabbed the remote and was about to turn the TV off when she realized the pictures weren't causing him any distress. If anything, he finally looked interested in something. So instead, Sarah turned up the volume.

"…massive mobilization on social media under the hashtag #ThankYouAvengers. The march is scheduled to start tomorrow at 1pm on the ESU campus grounds, as the idea was first popularized by students of the university. The route is planned to go around Grand Central to finish at the foot of Stark Tower, as a thanks to Iron-Man and his allies for protecting us from an attack that put Hollywood to shame. It is rumored that Tony Stark himself could make an appearance."

Sarah got an idea.

"Benjamin? What do you think of these Avengers?"

The kid turned his attention to her.

"Would you like to go to that march?"

His own cry of terror woke Peter up. He was disoriented, tangled up in sheets in a pitch black room, his heart pounding so loudly it was all he could hear. There were walls where there shouldn't be, and nothing where there should be walls. He couldn't find the light switch. He didn't even know if there was one at all. His flailing about made him fall of the bed and all he could do was try to crawl out of the sheets he was stuck in, as Thanos was coming for Tony because he had not listened, and then for his family because he had listened but failed.

The door of the room opened violently, the light was turned on, and suddenly Peter was at the Abbots.

"Benjamin!" shouted Bob as he ran to him, Sarah on his heels, hurrying to help the clearly distressed boy out of the sheets. "What happened? Are you all right?"

Peter didn't answer. He just kept panting, kept kicking at the sheets, until he tore them and was free and could crawl away from them until his back met the opposite wall.

Sarah crouched next to him.

"Shhhhh… It's alright, it was just a dream."

She approached her hand to try to soothe him, but Peter violently pushed it back.

"I'm fine!" he angrily exclaimed.

He was not fine. He didn't know if it was just a dream; he wanted it to be and he didn't at the same time. Because if it was indeed one, if he was awake, it meant that this, right here, was the reality he was stuck in. He kept hoping it was all an illusion, a trick, anything, and that he would open his eyes in his bedroom at his Aunt, that nothing happened, not even Titan. But every night he would wake up in these unfamiliar places, surrounded by unfamiliar people, in this unfamiliar body, and every morning was new evidence that all of it was real.

"If you wanna talk about it…"

"No! No, I don't," he seethed.

He didn't want to talk about it. He didn't want to talk at all. He hated the sound of his own voice. So high pitched. So childlike. He hated how it reminded him that he was powerless. How it made him dependent to strangers. He felt so humiliated, beingtreated like a ten year old when he was actually twenty. He felt so guilty that because of his condition, innocent people were forced into the mess that was his life.

"Benjamin, we can help you. Don't push us away," Sarah implored.

Peter jumped to his feet.

"No, you can't! Nobody can help me!"

Sarah was rattled by the sudden outburst.

"Benjamin…"

Peter should never have picked this name. He chose it on a whim, mixing his Uncle's first name and his Aunt's maiden name, half present at the moment, without even realising what it meant. Without thinking that people would actually end up calling him Benjamin. Every time he heard the name, his heart broke a little more. He had managed to take it upon himself all day, but most of his self-control had left him as Thanos was threatening his loved ones in his night terror. It took all he had in him to not hit anything.

"Just leave me alone!" Peter shouted so loud his voice broke.

Bob took Sarah by the arm.

"Honey you heard him, he wants to be on his own."

"But…"

"Let him calm down first. We'll talk to him later."

They left the room and closed the door behind them.

Peter just felt so angry. So angry at himself for not being able to control his emotions. So angry that he shouted at two great people who didn't deserve the worry he was causing them. So angry that there was nothing he could do in spite of his knowledge of the future.

So angry that he was alone.

He buried his head in his pillow and shouted at the top of his lungs, until his throat was sore, and even long after that.

He didn't go back to sleep that night.

The sun had been up for maybe an hour when there was a soft knock on Peter's door.

"Benjamin?" Sarah asked.

"I'm awake." His voice was raspy.

"Breakfast is ready."

Sarah's footsteps grew fainter as she left.

Peter shifted in his bed and sighed. He wasn't looking forward to breakfast, but avoiding it any longer wouldn't solve anything. He reluctantly got up and joined the Abbotts in the living room.

They were already seated at the table and hadn't waited for him to start eating. Peter took a few steps into the room and stopped, not knowing what else to do with himself.

"Good morning, Mr Reilly," greeted Bob, focused on smearing butter on his toast. "Slept well?"

"About that… I'm sorry for last night."

Bob gave an unamused scoff, put his toast down and finally looked at Peter.

"What you did was bad. Do you understand why?"

"Yes."

Bob observed him, expecting a more elaborate answer.

"You're here to take care of me, not to be shouted at."

"That's the least you could say."

There was a small silence. Bob sighed and gestured at the chair in front of him.

"Come on, take a seat, boy. Don't just stand there."

He resumed once Peter had pulled the chair and sat on it.

"We can only imagine you lived a nightmare during the attack. But this doesn't give you the right to be violent towards us. We want to help you, but we won't accept that kind of behavior. You almost hit Sarah last night—

"Bob, it's okay," reassured Sarah. "I'm fine."

"I did not—" began Peter.

Bob cut him off.

"No it's not okay, Honey," he said to Sarah, laying his hand over hers. He turned back to Peter. "I can recognize the look you had, boy. I've seen it many times. And I won't tolerate it, not against me, and certainly not against my wife."

"No, you're right. It was wrong, I'm really sorry. I don't know what happened last night, I'm not usually like this. I swear. But…"

Peter hesitated whether or not he should say it.

"But I admit it. I did want to hit something." Bob took in a sharp breath. Peter kept going. "Everything was just too much. But, Mrs. Abbott," he turned to her and let sincerity speak, "I would never, ever, have hit you, and I never will. I promise. I'm sorry if I scared you. It won't happen again."

"It's ok sweetie, I understand," said Sarah.

"We'll let it slide this time. But we won't next time," declared Bob. "Am I clear?"

Peter nodded.

"I told you, boy, speak up."

"Yes, sir. Very clear."

"Good."

Tension left the room. Sarah invited Peter to help himself to breakfast. The couple resumed casual conversation and even tried to incite Peter to join in, but now that he had said what he had to, he reverted back to his mutism.

The march was so packed with people that Sarah insisted Peter take her hand, to avoid them getting separated. Peter had to repeat himself that it was not shameful, that he had been doing it with MJ just a few days ago. Even if the context was wildly different.

The demonstration of love for the Avengers was astounding. There were countless signs thanking them. People were wearing DIY attributes of their favorite heroes since most of them had been made public too recently to have their official merch yet. Although some looked professionally made, which was incredible considering the small time window in between the attack and now. Some people were even downright cosplaying.

It was all so cool to watch. The crowd was generally ecstatic and very emotional. Peter remembered he had felt just as amazed as the people around him were by the Avengers in the days after the attack. After all, these guys had powers and had saved the world against an alien invasion. It was even better than Star Wars.

But it was also very bitter sweet. In a few years time, those same people would be demanding for the Sokovia Accords, blaming the Avengers to be responsible for things they could not help. Peter tried not to think too much about it.

As they marched through Times Square, the billboards were broadcasting footage of the Avengers in action. Every time a chitauri got punched, whether it had been captured by a professional camera or was coming from a shaky cellphone, the crowd clamored. Adding to the fact the billboards were not in sync and displayed their own video feed each, it was needless to say this portion of the march was without a doubt the noisiest.

People were bonding over this tragedy. They chatted about how incredible it was that aliens existed, exchanged about the heroes they admired, and the people they had lost. They were sorry for Peter when Sarah told them the story she believed was his. Peter pretended he wasn't listening. Sarah assumed he was looking out for his parents.

Around Grand Central, the atmosphere changed drastically. The place had been at the epicenter of the attack, and even though the roads had been patched and reopened, traces of the fight still showed. Boards were lining the open portions of roads, covered with faces and letters to missing loved ones. The ground was so packed with flowers and lit candles that it was as if they grew straight from the asphalt.

Sarah insisted they go take a look at the boards, in case Benjamin's family had left his picture among the other missing people. Maybe they would have left a way to contact them as well.

Of course Sarah and Peter wouldn't find anything. So, as Peter pretended to look for himself, he committed to memory the faces of the lost and their story instead. Some people would hang out around the boards, showing pictures to passers by and asking if they had seen their family or friends. It was all so heartbreaking.

Peter unintentionally realized that, ten years from now, there might not be anyone left to remember the victims of the attack. The thought sent a strong shiver down his spine, and Peter immediately tried to push it away before it triggered a full on panic attack.

"Mrs. Abbott, we should go. I don't think we'll find anything here," stated Peter.

Sarah tore her eyes away from the boards to look at the boy, confused.

"What makes you say that?"

Peter wasn't in the state of mind to find a plausible excuse, and it must have shown. He had always been terrible at hiding his emotions; that's why he loved the mask. But for once, he was glad he was easily readable, as Sarah must have picked on his distress signals and walked them both away, without asking any more questions.

When they arrived at the foot of Stark tower, people were tense with anticipation. Unbelievable rumors were running through the crowd. People were saying the Avengers would show up. Tony Stark himself would make a speech. Someone even saw Captain America through a window, taking pictures of the crowd with his smartphone. Peter actually scoffed at the unlikeliness of that one. He wasn't according too much credit to the hearsay, but a part of him couldn't help but hope. He kept an eye out for the Avengers, especially Tony.

He didn't know what he would do if he saw him. What he could say. He didn't feel ready. He needed to talk to his mentor, to see his friend. And at the same time, he didn't want to, for all the reasons he had already thought about. How Tony didn't know him and wouldn't believe him. How he would look like a child to him. How Tony would already have a lot to go through on his own as it was.

But… What if? What if, today, Peter was given a chance to initiate contact? What if he was given the opportunity to repair the future?

Peter knew he would not have a full conversation with him out there, in the crowd, and especially not that conversation. But he hoped that, maybe, he could start building something with Tony today.

That idea made him so fidgety that Sarah asked him if he was ok.

He wasn't ready.

Peter was the first to look up when a familiar repulsor sound resonated through the air. Quickly enough, everybody else imitated him.

Iron Man had shown up in all his glory.

The crowd exploded. Various "Bravo, Iron Man!"s and "I love you Tony Stark!"s erupted from all around Peter. Tony hovered over them, saluting, showing off. But never once looking over at Peter.

He was there, a few feet above him.

Completely unreachable.

Peter, heart heavy, watched as his friend flew away, going up the current of incoming people, offering them a glance at the hero they had come to see.

Peter jolted awake; it seemed like it was the only way he could emerge from sleep these days.

Good thing was, this time he managed to hold back his scream; but it was a close call. The nightmare had felt just as real as it had the previous night. And the one before. And the one before the one before.

Thanos, staring right down at his soul, ransacked every corner of his mind, gathering information on May and his friends, anticipating to go after them when he was finished with Tony. Peter didn't even know how his mind had made the link between Thanos and his loved ones. The titan had never set his eyes on them, even less mentioned them.

He was dead. The Thanos from 2022 had killed himself in his folly.

And the version from 2012 had never met Peter, even less heard of him. He was most likely billions of light years away and couldn't care less about a guy from Queens.

Yet, every night Thanos would strain Peter's sanity to the limit with the mind stone, while he was, slowly, but surely, digging his hand into Tony's gut.

While Peter was chained to the ground, unable to move.

Unable to act.

Peter couldn't stand it any longer. He needed to do something, or he would go insane. Still panting from his chaotic awakening, he frantically threw his blanket off of himself, jumped out of the bed, drew the chest key and pulled out his suit.

At the sight of it, however, Peter snapped back into reality. He couldn't wear it. It was too much of a mess; and that was without accounting for its size.

It wouldn't stop Peter. He dropped the relic and turned to the closet. He pulled out box after box, always careful to keep the volume down, until he found a dark hoodie, sweat pants and gloves. There were no shoes with the sole thin enough to allow his feet to stick. He settled for dark socks.

He then snatched his mask, tied it around the lower half of his face and pulled his hood up. He didn't bother with the oversized web-shooters. He would have to do without them.

Peter opened the window and climbed out into the night.

The fresh air immediately helped him feel better. Sneaking out when he was supposed to be asleep, with the intention of stopping a few muggings… He was back in his element. He paused there for a minute, taking in the sounds of people and circulation down billow, enjoying the dizzying sensation of hanging forty-two feet above the ground, feeling the wind ripple his cloths.

Peter took in a deep breath and started running horizontally along the wall. There would be no swinging tonight. He ran until he reached the corner of the building and leapt. Limbs flailing, a loud, "Whooohooooo!" escaped him. He jumped building after building in that manner, putting more and more distance between him and the nightmare that plagued his dreams. Running this way cleared his mind as it required focus, made him feel better. For the first time since he woke up in that damned alley, he finally felt like himself. He ran, leaped, squeezed in between walls and fire escape ladders, got to the top of buildings, dropped onto the ones way below, wedged himself in between the metal support bars of rooftops advertising boards. He released a part of the frustration accumulated in the last few days in this mad, frantic race.

It felt good.

At long last, Peter's spider-sense tingled and loud voices reached his ears. He turned his attention towards their origin and ended his run against a wall in a secluded, dimly lit alley. Breaths coming in short, he took a quick break to assess the situation.

Three muggers, two males, one female. Two guns. One knife. A couple, the woman in front of her man in a protective manner, holding up a pepper spray.

'Nice thinking,' thought Peter, 'but unless she's got some moves, it won't be enough.'

Peter silently crawled down the wall.

"Hey guys," he called when he was only ten feet off the ground, "why don't you face someone twice smaller than you instead of people your own size?"

The muggers jumped and turned to Peter. They saw him long enough to register his position on the wall before Peter made a flip and landed gracefully.

"I'm sure it'd look good on your resume."

The muggers took a step backwards.

"Yo kid, what the fuck? You're creepy."

"Yeah, I know. I get told that a lot."

Peter took a step forward.

"Alright guys, I'll give you one chance to leave that nice couple alone and surrender to the police."

The three muggers looked between each other and cracked up.

"Or what ya gonna do?" asked one of them. "Ya gonna go tell your momma?"

Peter had been told this exact line so many times when he first started out that it became sort of a running gag at this point. He shook his head, disappointed.

"You guys never change. Couldn't you, like, for once, surprise me and do as I ask?"

"Wait, is he serious?" the female mugger wondered, amazed at the kid's audacity.

The crook in the middle toughened up and took a step forward, pointing his gun at Peter. He didn't bulge.

"Listen, kiddo. I'll be the one giving you one chance to get the hell out of here or I blast you. Don't play the hero."

From the corner of his eye, Peter noticed his distraction had allowed the couple to retreat far enough from their assailants. Time to act.

"I don't play," he said ominously.

In a swift movement, Peter reached for the guy's arm… and missed it.

Peter was unsettled. He had done the move to disarm people countless times. It was drilled and screwed deep into his mind at this point. He shouldn't have failed it.

The miss, however gave a head start to the mugger, who was allowed extra time to pull the trigger in an ear splitting 'blam'. Peter only narrowly avoided the bullet thanks to his spider-sense. He flipped over the guy and landed behind him. He didn't lose a second to kick him in the knees, sending the guy over on his four.

"You, son of a—" he was interrupted by his own cry of pain as Peter clumsily but purposefully stepped on his hand, forcing him to release the gun. No webbing to stick the gun to the ground— or the crook for that matter. So Peter made a turn on himself and aimed a kick at the guy's head instead. His heel didn't quite land where he wanted it to, but it was still strong enough to render to guy unconscious.

Peter bent over and had just grabbed the gun when he was caught into a chokehold from the rear, forearm crushing his windpipe. The guy was good, his arms firmly locked in place. Peter tried to hit him to release his hold, but couldn't reach any of the strategic spots he usually did when stuck in that kind of situation. He was able to at least slip his free hand in between him and the guy's arm, managing to push it just enough to avoid choking completely.

His strength seemed to surprise his attacker, who, despite his hold, was struggling with the frantic kid.

"How do you…" he started.

"Hey dude, they're running away!" called the woman.

She was the one with the last gun.

Peter acted on instinct. He stuck his feet to the ground and forced to other guy to turn with him towards her. She had the weapon pointed at the couple's back. Without losing a second, Peter aimed at her head, and threw the gun he was still holding. She dropped to the ground.

"Oh no you don't," grunted the guy, releasing his hold on Peter to stab him with the knife.

Peter, alerted by his spider-sense, powerfully jumped backwards, causing the man to lose his balance and release him as they both fell. The guy landed with a "Oof" and the knife went flying. Peter rolled away from him, finally able to breathe properly.

And then he noticed. One of the guns was at reaching distance from the man, who, following Peter's look, saw it too. He started to make a move towards it. Peter threw his hand in front of himself out of reflex, two fingers folded into his palm, with the intention of snatching the gun first.

"Oh shoot!" he cursed, remembering the lack of web-shooters.

Peter got back up, half running, half tripping over his feet and almost threw himself over the man, whose extended hand was a few inches away from the weapon. Peter grabbed the guy by the hoodie and dragged him backwards over the asphalt.

"Nuh uh, guns are dangerous, you shouldn't play with those!"

"Oh shut up!"

He rolled over and kicked Peter in the chest, emptying his lungs in one lucky, well placed hit. Peter involuntarily bent over, and when he looked back up, the crook was right in front of him, gun pointed at him. He shoved Peter on the shoulder, who not only failed to avoid it, but lost his footing as he tried to and fell backwards, against the wall of a building boarding the alley. Before he could recover, the man had grabbed a handful of his hair through his hood and proceeded to repetitively slam his head against the bricks. Dizzy, held at gunpoint, Peter's spider-sense was screaming at him.

"Not so wise anymore, huh? I don't do children usually, but I think you need to be taught a lesson," the crook spat in his face, his breath putrid.

Peter should have been able to do something without hesitating. He had been threatened similarly over and over for the last seven-ish years. But without his webs, and with his unsettling gawkiness, he was not so confident. One wrong move, and the bullet was in him. The gun was too close, he wouldn't have time to dodge it.

But if he did nothing, the bullet would definitely come for him anyway. He could feel it.

Peter decided to try and risk it all by swiping his legs at the crook's in an attempt to make him fall once more. At the same time, a loud 'whack' resonated. The man collapsed like a rag doll, unconscious, revealing behind him the woman from the couple, a rusty metal rod in her hands. She dropped the makeshift weapon and gave one, strong kick at the man.

Well, turned out the lady did have some moves, apparently.

"Asshole," she insulted, before she spat on him.

"You should stop mugging. Looks like you've set the bar too high for you. It got to your head," Peter quipped at the man, even though he knew he couldn't hear him.

The woman turned to him and held up her hand. Peter gratefully used her help to get up. As soon as he was on his feet, however, she rounded on him.

"What is wrong with you?! You could have gotten killed!" she screamed.

"You're welcome. It was a pleasure helping you," wittily replied Peter, taken aback by the woman's change of target.

"I was handling it!"

"You were outnumbered," he retorted.

"What, so you weren't?"

"That's different."

"Don't be arrogant. It's definitely not. It's even worse. How's your head?"

"Fine. You shouldn't worry about me. How about you? Are you ok?" asked Peter, genuine.

The woman pinched her nose and sighed, her eyes clenched. She was clearly annoyed at him.

"Well, I'm not the one who got rolled over by three guys."

"I did not—"

"You shouldn't try to play hero, it's very dangerous. You could have been hurt, you got really lucky. Hell, you shouldn't even be out at this time." She said, shaking her head, before extending her hand. "Come, we'll take you home."

Peter was getting really tired of being talked down to. He had never donned the Spider-man suit to get 'thanks', but he hadn't miss the 'you're too young to be doing that' part one bit.

He leaped into the air, well above the lady's head and stuck to the wall, out of her reach. She gasped, surprised by the unexpected acrobatics.

"That won't be necessary," refused Peter. "You should call the police before they wake up, by the way," he added with a nod towards the three unconscious crooks before starting to crawl upwards, out of the light range.

As he reached the top of the building, a faint, bemused, "Did you see that?" echoed up the alley.

Peter sat down on the rooftop and cursed under his breath. What should have been a quick take-down of three guys turned out to be more challenging than he was used to.

And Peter didn't like it one bit.

But at the same time, Peter felt like a weight had been lifted off of him. A small smile crept over his face.

He wasn't any step closer to preventing the end of the world, but at least he had prevented the end of someone's world tonight. And that was as good a start as any other.

Notes :

So... Ben Reilly. That name rings a bell to most comics nerds ;) For those of you who are more into the MCU side of things, Peter has had many clones, one of them being named Ben Reilly.
In my fic, Peter is not a clone: he's definitely a futur version of 2012 Peter. However, this is 100% my take on the character.

I'm so sorry for the delay T.T Apparently I'm a waaaay slower writer than I thought — and this chapter turned out to be even longer than I expected.
To tell you the truth, chapter 3 was going to be longer than both chapter 1 and 2; which was becoming ridiculous at this point. So I decided to split the chapter in two and not have you wait any longer.
Part 2 will arrive as soon as I finish it! But since I'm apparently terrible at respecting my deadlines, I prefer not giving any so that nobody is disappointed.

Once more I thank dearly Noiter for her feedback, and SanaTomb for giving time out of her day to beta this chapter, you're the best guys 3

And also, a big thanks for that second, review, I'll even more keep that in mind x)