May 2012
Shuffling around him woke Peter up. He had dozed off on the couch, a book open on his lap.
"Rough night?" Sarah asked as Peter rubbed his eyes.
Peter nodded.
"You had nightmares again?"
Peter didn't answer.
Sarah didn't insist, but she worried. It was the kid's third day with them, and he still refused to talk unless absolutely necessary. He was so closed off that there was no learning what troubled him. Just getting to know what he wanted for dinner was almost impossible. And even then, it seemed like he only gave random answers just to please her.
She wished he would give them his trust, so that they could start healing him.
The kid wasn't even difficult; in fact, he was very compliant and did everything he was asked to do.
Maybe all he needed was a little push?
Sarah got up from the couch and clapped her hands, drawing Peter's attention.
"All right, let's play a game. Is there anything you'd like to play?"
To Sarah's expectation, the boy shrugged. She walked to the shelf and took out the Uno card game, showing it to Peter, who just looked at it and then back at Sarah.
"Come on," Sarah prompted. "You've been sitting there all day. I'd take you outside, but…"
The splitch splotch of rain splattering the windows was self explanatory.
When the boy stood up from the couch, Sarah considered it a small victory. She took them both to the dining table.
"Do you know the rules?" She asked as she distributed the cards.
Peter nodded, and the game started. They played in silence for a few rounds.
"So, Benjamin… I'm sure a healthy boy like you must practice some sport."
Peter looked up at her, and then back at his cards.
"What do you do? Maybe Bob and I could take you this week-end. I'm sure you must miss it."
To Peter, it became clear she wouldn't take no for an answer.
"I uh… I just run around."
"Like jogging? Or more like sprinting? Are you in a club?"
"Jogging. I just jog. Not in a club or anything."
"Well then… Maybe we could go have a round in Central Park. I haven't run in a while, but I'm sure it'd do me some good. What do you say?"
"Uh…Sure, why not." Peter replied, hesitant.
Silence fell back over the table.
"Benjamin, can I ask you a question?"
Peter tensed at the heaviness of Sarah's voice.
"You haven't mentioned your family nor your friends one single time since you joined us."
It was a statement, not a question. Sarah paused, waiting to see if the kid would pick up on it.
"I'm starting to worry about you. There's only one reason I can think of as to why you wouldn't," Sarah said carefully.
Peter frowned. This was the very conversation he had hoped to avoid. He had thought a lot about the answer he would give to the question Sarah was about to ask. But he had none that would live through the lie in the long run. A badly handled answer would get people to dig into Benjamin Reilly's own non-existent past. And when they would find nothing, eyebrows would be raised. So there would be more digging. But he was literally no one; no papers, no official identity, no birth certificate to be found to distinguish him form the Peter Parker of this era. None that wouldn't expose his family and drag them into the craziness that was now his life.
"Benjamin, what happened that day?"
All he could do was stall until he came up with something. Keep the silence card going.
"I don't wanna talk about it."
So he did.
"I know you don't. But I'm sure it could help you—"
"Please. I'm not ready."
Sarah looked at him, pained.
"If you don't allow yourself to trust us, I don't think you'll ever be ready."
Peter was stunned. Was he that bad at keeping for himself, or was she just a very good reader?
"I'm sorry Mrs Abbott—"
"Call me Sarah."
"… Sarah. You're being very nice and I'm really grateful. But —please, don't take it badly— I barely know you."
"You're right," Sarah acknowledge.
She put her cards down and buried her face in her hands.
"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to…" Peter apologized, starting to slightly panic at the idea he might have hurt her.
"No. No, you're right."
Sarah stood still for a short moment, leaving an awkward Peter unsure about what to do. Finally she picked up her cards and resumed playing, adding a card to the pile, undisturbed.
"The day I learned I couldn't have children, Bob and I were devastated."
Peter, dumbstruck by the sudden openness, forgot it was his turn until Sarah invited him to keep playing with a gesture of her hand, never stopping in her story.
"We had been trying for two years, you know… The doctor told us about adoption. But it wasn't the same. I wanted my own child, not someone else's. The doctor told us we could adopt from birth, from a mother who didn't want to keep the child, and it would be almost the same. We would keep tabs with the mom, follow the pregnancy evolution, and it would be our baby in the end. But the doctor also insisted we visit an orphanage first, saying there were plenty of older children who were also in need of parents. I wanted a baby, not a grown up, but Bob seemed on board with the idea. So we went. I didn't believe I'd find my child in there.
"Until I fell in love."
Sarah indicated a picture on the wall behind Peter, showing the Abbotts and a young brunette girl, radiating happiness.
"Her name is Laura. She was twelve at the time. She had been in the system since birth and had never been able to settle with a family. But she was so full of love, and so ready to give it. She stayed with us until she graduated high-school. She is now married and gave birth to her second child two years ago.
"You'd think that after we saw a child to college, we'd be happy. But we were addicted by then. We fostered Lucas, Amelia and Mason, each for a few months only."
Sarah once again pointed at the pictures behind Peter, showing each child and teenager as she said their name, her voice full of affection.
"They were either transitioning from one family to the next, or needed a place to stay while their family solved their own problems before they could take them back in."
"Then we had little Ian. He was supposed to stay only for a few months too, just like the others. But he'd seen ugly things in his home, and even uglier things happened back there when he was with us, so he ended up staying. You know, we were really concerned about him. What happened to him made him very difficult to get through. He talked even less than you do, if that can give you a rough idea," Sarah indicated, teasingly. "But with love and compassion, he started to open up."
A warm smile spread across her face.
"If you'd see him now, you would hardly believe he was that shy and quiet child. He became quite the extroverted young man, with so many friends it was hard to keep up," she chuckled. "But he was also very hard working and his dedication won him a full scholarship to Cornell."
Sarah was the epitome of pride, until she remembered Peter's youth.
"Cornell is a university," she clarified.
"I know. I've heard about it."
"You have? Well, that's good. At your age, I barely knew what a university is," Sarah laughed, before resuming her story.
"After Ian left us, I finally got to see my dream of having a baby fulfilled. Small Finn was two years old and he stayed with us for a whole of nine months. And let me tell you, grown up children don't prepare you for the full-time job that taking care of a toddler is," she laughed wholeheartedly.
"When his relatives finally came to take custody of him, it was really hard to say goodbye. But it was for the best. Last time we heard of him he wasn't doing so good at school, but he seemed to be a happy little boy and that's the best we could wish for.
"Then we got Harper." Sarah's tone had become slightly somber. "Harper was… something else. She was fifteen and had an impressive record for her young age. We chose to give her a chance and we were so glad she took it. Although there was nothing really surprising in that choice, since it was us or juvie.
"She was not easy to work with. Very stubborn. But we knew there was hope for her as under the protective shell gave herself, there was a very caring young lady. She truly blossomed under our care. She was given the opportunity to start over a new life and she made something great out of it. She was smart and worked really hard to catch back on school.
"She…uh… She left us almost a year ago."
All the while Sarah talked about Harper, her tone was as full of love as it was for the other children. But there was something else… a small quiver. Sarah took a breath that she willed not shaky and recomposed herself.
"And now we have you. And I'm very much looking forward to the story we will build together."
Peter was at a loss for words. If anything, he had not expected to get the full history of the Abbott family. The amount of love Sarah could give to children that were not her own was astounding. It touched Peter in a way he had not anticipated, struck him to the core.
It reminded him of his Aunt May. How it seemed to have never once crossed her mind to give up custody of him when his Uncle Ben died, even though they were not blood related. It just seemed natural that she would keep taking care of him.
He suddenly missed her more than he had in the last few days. He had buried his emotions deep inside to try to stay sane. But the parallel Peter had unconsciously made between Sarah and May brought it all back in a pang.
"Uh, thanks," he replied, disturbed. "Can I?"
Peter pointed at the wall behind him, and all the pictures and drawings displayed on it. Sarah nodded.
"Sure, go ahead."
Peter jumped on his feet and got to the wall, admiring it like he was in a museum. It was the perfect excuse to turn away from Sarah and give himself some time to calm down.
He looked at every picture, every piece of art on the wall, focusing on what he had in front of his eyes instead of what was on his mind.
"We keep everything," explained Sarah. "It's all we have after they're gone. That, and the memories."
They had pictures of every single child they ever cared for. College graduations, family outings… The Abbotts seemed so at ease with the kids that an outsider would have had a hard time guessing they weren't related to them.
Peter's heart swelled for this nice couple and all the good they were doing. They might not have powers, but they were real heroes.
As his aunt would say: "Save one person, and you save everybody". It was because of people like them that less adults ended up committing crimes in the street that Peter would later have to stop.
"Thanks for everything you're doing. I mean it."
However, weighting against this gratitude was the guilt of the lie he told them. It was growing bigger day after day, nice word after nice touch. And this conversation was the compost to his guilt plant. But what could he do but maintain the lie? So he buried the guilt, just like he buried his feelings on everything he was missing.
Sarah seemed surprised by his words.
"We don't do it for the thanks, but I'm glad you feel that way."
Peter, having gotten a grip on himself, turned back to Sarah.
"Whose turn was it to play again?"
"It was yours I believe."
Peter joined back the table picked up his cards and played one. Sarah answered with a +4 card.
"Yellow," she said as Peter drew cards from the stack.
She then laid down a yellow reverse, called "Uno" and got rid of her last card.
Peter and his pile of cards looked at her, flabbergasted.
"What? I might love all of my children, but that doesn't mean I let them win at games."
"I call for a rematch," he appealed in a mock-offense tone.
When Peter woke up that night, it was not because of the night terror. Surprisingly, for the first time since he landed in 2012, nightmares didn't bother his sleep at all. Peter opened his eyes with purpose, knowing full well it was time for him to go for a little walk outside.
He'd spent the day giving a great deal of thought as to why he struggled so much against the crooks the previous night.
He identified two reasons: the first one was the height difference between his regular body and the one he was stuck in. He was used to longer arms and legs and had had years of practice with those. Take away a few inches and what movements should have been instinct ended up being treacherous if he didn't pay attention. It was similar to when he had a sudden growth spurt at the age of thirteen and was clumsier than usual for a while. There was no quick fix to this; he'd have to train until his brain got used to his current height.
The second reason, however, was the lack of web-shooters; and that was something he could change. The wristbands might have been too big on him for the time being, but with the proper tools he could reduce their size to fit him.
The only problem was that the Abbotts probably didn't have those tools. And even if they did, there was no way Peter could work on his web-shooters here.
The only place he knew he could sneak into to properly modify his tech was all the way back in Queens, in Midtown High's workshop.
Peter opened the chest, changed into his makeshift suit and tied up his mask. He then picked up his web-shooters, turning them in his hands, hesitant.
Midtown High was a long way away. Peter briefly considered the ESU labs, and dismissed the idea as quickly. Not only was the security there much higher than it was in his previous high-school, but there would most likely be people working at this time anyway. Clocks were a foreign concept to researchers.
Peter sighed; he would have to swing all the way to Queens, since public transportation was a no no. Peter had no idea what time it was, but even if the subway and buses were still circulating, there was no way a ten year old could use them unbothered so late at night. So he slipped the web-shooter on his wrist.
The thing, of course, was sagging. One push on the web-release button and the pressure would send the device reeling up his arm.
Really, the only way he could make this work was if he swung all the way there one-handed, using his other hand to hold the web-shooter in place.
Welp, that was going to be a fun ride. Not awkward at all.
Peter arrived at his destination half an hour later, glad that it was over, but exhilarated all the same. Despite the constraints of his trip, he had missed swinging around the city. In regular circumstances he would have complained a lot, but the shred of normalcy swinging gave him... the freedom he felt after spending days locked up in his lies rendered the struggle inconsequential.
Peter snuck into a vent and made his way to the workshop. All the while he stayed hyper aware of his surroundings, making sure the security wasn't any different than the one he was used to. He was relieved to find out it wasn't, and he navigated in between the security cameras without any trouble.
Getting into the workshop, Peter didn't lose a second. He fetched the tools and immediately got to work. As it was a no brainer; his mind wandered while his hands labored.
He thought about his Spider-man persona, and what he would do with it. In 2012, nobody knew about him yet. He had a chance to start over, avoid the mistakes he did when he first began. Maybe he could even change his name? The Scarlet-Spider. That was a dope name. Although he did intend to keep his red and blue suit. So that would make him.. the Cobalt-Scarlet-Spider? Wait, wouldn't that make him the Violet-Spider? Peter cringed as he tried to erase from his mind the image of himself in a purple spidery suit.
In any case, with the 'suit' he was sporting right now, there were more chance he would be called Spider-Punk, because half-masks and hoods sure incited to trust. In the end, the Spider-Man name was not such a bad idea, after all.
Although, as things were, it was more Spider-Boy than anything else.
This gave Peter a pause.
He couldn't go public about Spider-Man. The only thing people would see was his apparent age. He couldn't say the truth about it, as it would either create havoc, or, most likely, people would simply not believe him. They would just try to stop him. That's what he himself would do if he met a ten year old playing vigilante.
…Would that bring Tony's attention on him?
It could. But not necessarily. And it would also definitely bring a lot of other people's attention, and not only good ones, as they would see his age as an opportunity to mold him to fit their own personal agendas. Of course Peter would be able to discern between good and bad guys, but they wouldn't know that and he had no time to waste with those creepy profiteer.
And was that really the kind of attention he wanted from Tony? The adult protecting the child? He'd been through that already. His experience taught him that as long as Tony didn't perceive him as an equal, he wouldn't listen to his warnings. If Tony believed he was the ten year old he appeared to be, he wouldn't believe his story. And Peter needed to get his point across.
No, it was too early to go public yet. Peter literally couldn't see any positive aspects about it. But he couldn't stop being Spider-Man all together. After all, he had been sent back to 2012 with his powers, when his own past-self wouldn't get his own before four other years. It must have been for a reason, right? He couldn't stop using them to help people. With great power, there must also come great responsibility.
He'd stick to the shadows then. Act in the dark.
That was one problem solved. But that didn't answer the question about what to do with Tony.
Peter sighed. This whole problem was a real headache he had no solution for.
He slipped a first web-shooter on. It finally felt at home on his wrist. He tested it, making sure it worked perfectly, until the cartridge was empty.
Peter figured that, since he was already there, he could as well go make a new batch of web-fluid once he was finished on his second web-shooter.
On his way back to the Abbotts, Peter felt more alive than ever. With two working web-shooters, he could enjoy swinging to the fullest. He flipped and vaulted and dived to only catch himself at the last second. Scratch that first trip to the school; this was what freedom really tasted like.
They were eating dinner in silence. Usually the Abbotts were really chatty, but not that night. Peter could feel something was brewing and that made him wary.
Finally, Bob broke the uncomfortable silence.
"Benjamin, we need to talk."
Peter tensed. He didn't like the seriousness that took over the usual light-heartedness in Bob's tone. Had they noticed his nightly promenades?
"CPS called today."
Oh. So that was what it was about. Peter honestly didn't know if he would have preferred them talking about his sneaking out after all.
"They haven't found anything about your parents yet."
"Oh," was all Peter could say.
"That means nobody came asking for you. I'm sorry, kid."
This information obviously did not surprise Peter, but he couldn't tell the Abbotts.
"Oh ok."
Damn. He was really bad at handling this. He hadn't have had to lie to any of his closed ones for years regarding his double life; he really lost the hang of it.
Luckily for him, Sarah seemed to interpret it as a 'I'm really sad but I want to maintain appearances' kind of "Oh ok".
"They could still be alive though, in hospital."
"Sarah, you shouldn't give him too much hope," Bob reprimanded her. "Kid, we'll be honest with you. If your parents didn't come for you and they're still alive, it's likely they are in bad shape at the hospital."
Bob marked a pause.
"But you should also consider the possibility that they could be dead," he added, apologetic.
Bob was referring to fictional parents, but Peter couldn't help but picture his Uncle Ben, or, more confusingly, Tony. Their death had both marked him; but they were alive now, weren't they? They were dead in the future —or Peter's past?—, but in the present they breathed just as well as he did. He should have felt happy about it. He was, actually. So why were Bob's words impacting him so much? Peter wanted to pass for the kid with the history the Abbotts believed him to have, but he didn't know how to play the part while his emotions were so conflicting.
His internal turmoil must have shown as Sarah picked up on his silence.
"You already know that, don't you?"
Peter closed his eyes as he realized he missed his cue. He messed this one up. If the Abbotts were suspicious he wasn't telling them something, now they must be almost certain of it.
"Benjamin talk to us. We can help you. We want to help you," begged Sarah.
"We know almost nothing about you and neither does CPS. With a bit more information about you they could pinpoint their research and speed up the process to find out what happen to them."
They were asking for him to tell them more lies he was not willing to spin. Everyday that went by was adding a new layer of stress upon him as he started to care more and more for the Abbotts. They didn't deserve to be kept from the truth. But they deserved even less to be dragged into it.
So he said nothing.
"We gave you a few days to adjust and recover, but now you gotta speak to us." Bob was losing patience.
"Bob," Sarah rebuked before turning back to Peter, her voice soft, tentative, marking a pause between each question to allow for Peter to answer them. "Anything would help. Why don't you tell us your parents name and address? Do you know it? Or your birthday? Or maybe where you go to school?"
Peter kept his mouth shut, refusing to look at them, the weight of the shame growing bigger and bigger with every question they asked.
"Kid, we took you in willingly, yet we don't even know how old you are. We're here for you, you can trust us. You can't keep everything for yourself, or you're gonna snap," insisted Bob.
"There's nothing to say," Peter replied to get them to stop pressing, before cringing internally. Way to go to get them off his tracks.
However, his answer did have the intended effect; the couple marked a pause. Peter observed them discreetly, surprised. Something passed between them as they looked at each other. Was it resignation? Mutual support?
But then Sarah turned to Peter once more. The emotions he could read in her eyes… He knew he had unintentionally lead her to conclusions he would have preferred she never reach.
"Benjamin… I'm starting to think you don't want to go back with your parents. There's more to the story than just the attack on New-York, isn't it?"
Peter shook his head.
"Are they treating you badly?'
He didn't need them to start imagining he was abused by non existent parents. This would just bring CPS down harder on him.
"What? No. It's not like that."
"Then why won't you talk? We need to understand!"
"Because!…" Peter stopped. What could he say? He was usually so good at quipping at villains when under pressure, so why did he feel so exposed with the Abbotts? He just needed them to stop. "Because it's none of your business."
The Abbotts looked hurt by his unexpected answer. But now he was launched and he couldn't stop; he poured all of his frustration onto them, raising his voice.
"Why don't you just leave me alone? I never asked for your help. You're here trying to fix me but you know what? You can't! You can't understand what I've been through and there's nothing you can do to help me so just give up already!"
Peter was regretting the words as they spilled uncontrollably out of his mouth. He was disgusted by himself, because he knew full well they didn't deserve it. But it would be better for them if they just gave up on him altogether.
The look they gave him… Peter would have slapped himself.
Before they got the chance to answer, Peter stood up and got to his room, slamming the door behind him.
Peter let himself slide against the door and took his head in his hands. He was breathing hard, trying to tame the guilt gnawing at his gut. Trying to tell himself that his outburst was for the best. The Abbotts would send him back to the center.
He wouldn't have to lie anymore.
He would be free to focus as much as he wanted on the problem at hand, without having to pretend all day long he was someone he was not.
He should never have agreed to follow the Abbotts.
No, scratch that; he should have fled from the center while he still had the chance, instead of moping around and whining about his fate. Be productive, instead of watching the clock, waiting for it to start ticking in reverse to take back the last few days, revealing the whole thing to be a nifty trick played on his mind. If he had left, only CPS would have been looking for him; no one involved enough to focus too much on a boy's disappearance.
Peter clenched his eyes shut, holding back a moan.
No one would have known about him if he had not allowed those police officers to take him in the first place. What was he thinking? He should have run away as soon as he saw them. From the moment he got to the center, he was done; CPS had his face and they would come looking for him, no matter their degree of involvement. Now that there were people who knew about him, he was bound to have to lie and hide.
He had to leave.
"…have no idea how to handle him," Sarah's whispered words reached Peter through the door. "Every time I think I managed to make some progress with him, it backfires."
"He just needs more time. Be patient."
"But we don't have time anymore. It's the week-end already and I have to get back to work on Monday."
"I'll take the next week off."
"Bob…"
"It's necessary."
"I know… But what if next week is still not enough? What if he still doesn't open up? Or if his parents don't come for him? We can't keep taking weeks off. And I don't see him getting back to school in his state. He hardly sleeps at night—"
"You're thinking too much. We'll wait and see, and do what we have to for him. We won't let him down."
They let a small silence settle between themselves.
"I think he needs to see a therapist."
"What?"
"You saw him. He's so quiet until he has those mood swings. Every time we try to dig a little… He needs help. What he saw that day… The poor kid is traumatized."
"And you want to force him to relive that?"
"Bob—"
"No, he just needs time to process. He'll open up when he's ready."
"I don't get it. It helped Ian so much yet you'd deny it for Benjamin?"
"Ian was different. He wouldn't even speak."
"So does he!"
"He has his wit about him. He answers questions."
"Not the ones that matter!"
"Sarah, the kid looks way better than Ian did."
"I don't even understand how you could say that. Clearly you haven't seen him catching up on sleep on the couch every morning."
"Sarah, I agree with you that Benjamin is not ok. I won't deny that. But I don't think a therapist is the answer. Right now the people who could truly help him are his parents and I doubt a therapist could tell us where they are." Bob lowered his voice even more, to make sure that Benjamin wouldn't over hear them. "If they're dead and the kid saw it, he'll just have lived that memory again, for nothing. We don't need him to be traumatized a second time."
"But that's exactly what therapy is for! To relieve trauma!"
Peter had heard enough.
To add to his already incredibly high pile of guilt, the Abbotts were now fighting over him.
He had to leave.
But if he did, the Abbotts would be worried sick. They seemed to genuinely care about him.
He had to leave, so that he wouldn't cause them anymore trouble.
But wouldn't he cause even more if he did?
The walls around him suddenly seemed too tight. Peter had no space to think. No space to let his thoughts unfurl.
So he jumped into his makeshift suit and webbed the door shut just in case. Seconds later, the room was left empty, window wide open.
Peter thought that taking a night stroll would calm him down, but it didn't. His mood was swinging with every twhip of his webs — his mind raging, stuck in a dilemma.
He knew he needed to get to Tony as soon as possible.
He knew the world — and more — were at stake.
He knew he couldn't devote all of his time to the Thanos problem as long he was stuck with the Abbotts.
He knew it would be even more difficult if they sent him back to school. That simple thought made him shudder, as he imagined himself having to do his school curriculum all over again.
So why couldn't Peter bring himself to leave when it was so obvious it was the best thing he could do? Why did that couple matter so much to him?
That night Peter encountered a robbery. He had his web-shooters, and he sure was aware of his size problem; but his mind wasn't in the moment.
He accomplished the job — after all, this was a classic theft with classic thieves — but not without taking a few ill placed hits first.
If his right eye didn't bruise, he was sure his split lip would be harder to hide. And that was without accounting for the multitude of glass cuts all over his body, including the one on his forehead, dripping blood into his eye.
That was it then; this was all Peter needed to make his decision.
When Peter got back to the Abbotts' building hours after dinner, he knew he had messed up.
The window he had left open was now shut closed.
A new pang of guilt hit him as he landed softly next to it. The Abbotts knew he had slipped out. Peter forced himself to divert his thoughts from imagining how they must have felt. His mind was made, and he wouldn't bulge from his resolution.
He tested the window, knowing full well it was locked. He stuck his fingers to the frame and silently forced the mechanism. He waited for a bit after the 'click', alert, then rolled the window up when nobody came. Peter crawled inside and softly dropped to the ground. The room was dark, lit only by the street lights several feet below.
Peter removed his half mask and stuffed it in his pocket. All he needed was his backpack with his useless suit and phone.
And maybe a few clothes.
Peter headed to the closet first. The door creaked slightly when he opened it. Peter listened carefully for any sign of life.
There was none.
So he went back to his task, fishing blindly inside the box he remembered was his size. He threw his catch on the bed, the items each landing with a little 'thump' of their own.
Satisfied, Peter closed the door. It creaked again. Wary, Peter stopped, listening intently again.
No alarm had been raised.
Peter decided it would be safer to leave the door half open. He turned to the chest, unintentionally hitting his hand against the door.
Thud.
Light erupted from the below the door.
"Benjamin?" Sarah's voice chimed in, pitch higher than usual.
Shit.
Too late for subtleties.
Peter strode to the chest. He took out the key from his pocket and crouched in front of the coffer. His heart was beating faster, thumping into his ears. He just needed his backpack, and he was out. Forget about the clothes.
Hurried footsteps stomped closer and closer to his room.
The precipitation rendered Peter less precise. He fiddled with the key hole, struggling to slide the key in place in the near dark, the slight tingle of his spider-sense not helping.
"Come on," he whispered, adrenaline peaking.
The key finally found its way in.
The door was thrown wide open, and light suddenly bathed the room.
Peter was out of time.
"Benjamin, is that you? Oh my God, where have you been?" Sarah tried to cover the quaver in her voice. She stepped in lightly, as if she was afraid to scare a wild animal, with Bob on her heels. "We have been so worried about you. You weren't in your room and the window was wide open…"
Peter didn't answer. He had his back to them, but he still lowered his head, just in case. They couldn't see him like this. The gash on his forehead had stopped bleeding, but it would still require a few hours before it was completely closed, and a few more before no trace was left.
"We thought…" the crack in her voice stopped Sarah from finishing her sentence.
Peter closed his eyes in a vain attempt to shut himself from the world.
This was exactly what he had foolishly hoped to avoid. He had been selfishly trying to ignore how the Abbotts would feel, and the universe was punishing him by flinging the full weight of their worry in his face.
"When did you get back in? We didn't hear you."
Peter turned his head away from Sarah as she kneeled next to him. His hood was still drawn up, helping him to hide his face.
"Are you ok? …Benjamin?"
She approached her hand from his hood when he didn't answer. Peter pushed her back, the gesture a lot gentler than it was on his first night with the Abbotts.
"I am. Don't worry about me," he replied, unable to cover the guilt in his voice.
"Benjamin, please, look at me," she implored.
Peter didn't move, hoping she would give up, leave him some space to collect himself and figure a way out. But she was relentless, her anxiety growing with each passing moment Peter refused to answer.
"What happened? Benjamin?"
Before Peter could react, she grabbed his arm and forced him to turn to her.
She looked at him, stunned, taking in the blood crusting his face, his swollen eyelid, his split lip.
Then she screamed. She screamed a blood chilling scream, the purest form of panic taking over her every thought.
"Oh my God!" She started to repeat, over and over, going a bit faster every time she said those three words. Tears she didn't seem to notice started to spill. She grabbed Peter's face, trying to wipe away the already dried blood with her thumb, only to make it fall in tiny specks in his eye and cheek. "Who did that to you?"
Without thinking, she tore off a piece of her pajama and spit on it as a second attempt to clean his face with it. When Peter pulled back from her touch, she reached for his head and cradled him against her, slightly rocking back and forth.
"I'm so sorry I wasn't here to protect you," she hiccuped between two loud sob.
Peter, stupefied, didn't know how to react. He knew they would be worried for him… But Sarah was outright hysterical, repeating, "I'm sorry," over and over. Peter was left baffled in her arms, Sarah's reaction being far more than he could ever have anticipated.
Bob, who had been standing a bit behind to avoid overcrowding the kid, finally stepped in.
As he crouched next to Sarah, he exchanged a look with Peter. It didn't last long, as the kid quickly averted his eyes. But it was just enough to have a form of understanding pass between them.
"Sarah, sweet heart… He's okay, you can let him go," he tried to soothe her, gently stroking her cheek. He had his voice mostly under control, a faint shiver slipping through being the only clue his emotions were less in check than he let on.
Sarah just shook her head, new tears replacing the ones Bob had wiped away.
"N-No," she sobbed, tightening her embrace. "No, I failed him. I failed another child. I failed —"
"Sarah — Sarah, look at him. He's alive. You can let him go."
At that moment, it became crystal clear to Peter why he didn't try to leave earlier.
The Abbotts were very different from his Aunt May and Uncle Ben; yet in a way, they were also very similar, in that they were ready to give everything to raise a child that was not their own.
Peter foolishly thought that the affection he could hear in Sarah's voice when she talked about her children didn't include him. But Sarah and Bob genuinely cared about him. They knew close to nothing of him, had had him for only a few days, yet they seemed to love him as their own, from the very moment they had laid their eyes on him.
And there was something else… Something more discreet, something the Abbotts had camouflaged very well up until now. They looked like the typical happy couple in their mid-forties: good job, good car, good apartment… Peter didn't doubt for one second their happiness was real. But below the surface, under the polished appearances was an open, oozing wound. Something had happened to them. A tragedy they had not overcome yet, an event so major that it sent Sarah into tears when confronted with Peter's bloody face.
He didn't know what had brought him together with the Abbotts. He didn't know how he would get to his goal. But he did know one thing: they didn't deserve the stress he was inflicting them. And right at that moment, in the middle of this storm of emotions, it was all that mattered.
All intentions Peter had of leaving vanished the moment he returned Sarah's embrace.
"It's ok, I'm alright," he said softly. "I'm sorry I made you worry. It won't happen again, I promise."
It only made Sarah's cries worse.
"I'm ok," Peter reiterated. He repeated those words again and again like a mantra, each time draining more and more of Sarah's distress, until she was calm enough to listen to her husband.
"Honey, come," Bob said, grabbing her softly by the elbow. "You should go back to bed. I'll patch him up."
"But—"
"You need to rest. I won't let him out of my sight."
He looked at her intently and she knew he had the situation handled.
Finally, she let go of Peter. She cast him a last glance as she got up, but the kid had already lowered his head again. As she left, Bob quietly grabbed her hand, squeezing it in a reassuring way before softly letting her go.
Once the door of their room had clicked shut, Bob rounded on Peter.
"You, in the bathroom. Now."
His tone, if a bit shaky, was a lot drier.
Bob closed the door behind him.
"Take off your clothes." He whispered the order, not wanting to alert Sarah and rekindle the anguish attack she just had.
He had not intended for the kid to get in his underwear in front of him, but as he observed him more attentively, it was clear he had cuts everywhere, and not only on his face.
Peter reddened.
"I can take care of myself. You don't have to, you know."
Bob ignored him and turned towards a high bathroom cabinet, retrieving the first aid kit.
"Don't discuss this with me, I'm not in the mood."
Peter had no choice but to obey. He reluctantly removed his clothes, discreetly taking off his web-shooters as he passed his hands in his sleeves.
He stood in front of Bob in his underpants, embarrassed. The man was trying to hide a mixed look of dismay and terror — if such a thing was possible — as he assessed the boy's state.
Peter turned his head away, feeling uncomfortable, and unintentionally met with his reflection in the mirror
He was quite a sight. Between his unusually lean muscles for a child and the cuts scattered all over his body, he sure had an uncommon figure. Peter eyed himself, starting from the lower part of his body and going up, until blue eyes looked back at him. He promptly turned his head away. He still wasn't used to his face; he didn't know if he would ever be.
"Benjamin, what did you do?" Bob asked, clearly frightened for the boy.
"I'm fine, it doesn't hurt."
Of course it hurt. But Peter had known so much worse… A few cuts were nothing in comparison. It barely stung.
Bob clearly did not believe him. However, he still put down the first aid kit next to the sink.
"You need stitches. There's only so much I can do here. We'll have to take you to the hospital."
Peter stiffened, his mind raced.
On the one hand, going to the hospital would probably make things easier for the Abbotts. But that would mean exposing himself to the authorities, who would definitely do some digging around to learn how a kid like himself got in the state he was, after they determined the Abbotts didn't abuse him. If anything, doctors would raise questions when they would see his injuries, looking older than a few hours fresh thanks to his faster healing. Going to the hospital would mean exposing his face, therefore his family, to an extent. It was no better than giving the wrong answers to the questions the Abbotts had been expecting from him.
On the other hand, if he refused to go to the hospital, the Abbotts would be asking themselves even more questions. They would be more suspicious of him; and staying with them would end up more difficult than it already was. But if he chose that option, he had more control over how many people knew about him, and how much they were willing to search on him. But that was if the Abbotts didn't freak out and rat him out to CPS after his night stroll.
If he chose the second option, if he kept things under control here, if he managed to avoid bringing even more strangers in on his case… His family wouldn't be involved.
Overall, there was no good option. Just one with a less disastrous outcome than the other… If handled properly.
Peter really did mess up. He should have fled through the window as soon as he heard Sarah in the corridor. He had been so stupid to be stubborn over that bag when he could simply have come back later for it.
And then what… Leave the Abbotts to worry themselves to death as the child they were supposed to take care of went missing?
"It won't be necessary. Look, I already stopped bleeding," Peter argued, pointing at a random cut on his arm. "We just need to clean these wounds and I'll be good to go. Fresh as new."
He grabbed the first aid kit, sat on the closed toilet seat and took out a bottle of antiseptic and a pack of gauze. Peter held in a hiss as the disinfectant burned his raw wound.
Bob exhaled sharply, crossed the few steps that separated him from Peter and seized the spray and pads from his hands. Kneeling down next to him, he picked up where he had stopped Peter.
"Ok, no more lies kid. Why don't you want to go to the hospital? Is this linked to the reason why you snuck out?"
Peter pinched his lips, harboring a determined look on his face. He was reflecting on the answer he would give, but Bob interpreted his expression as if he decided not to answer him.
Bob threw the gauze to the ground and got up. He was done with Peter's behavior.
"This is ridiculous. You vanish God knows how — and don't tell me you snuck out through the door because we were in the living room the whole time — only to reappear badly hurt hours later, refusing to go to the hospital."
He was barely containing his anger.
"You won't answer me? Then I won't do you any favors. Put your clothes back on, we're going to the ER."
Bob bent down to pick up Peter's hoodie and pants. Hoodie that had the web-shooters loose in the sleeves. Peter jumped to his feet.
"No!" Peter almost screamed.
This got Bob to stop mid-movement and look back up at him.
"I'm scared, ok?" Peter admitted.
Technically, this was not a lie.
"Of the hospital?"
Peter nodded.
"Why?" Bob asked, straightening up.
"'Cause… I just don't like this place."
Still not a lie.
Bob studied him. Crossed his arms.
"Ok, let's say I believe you. How did you get hurt?"
"Fell through a window."
Partial truth.
"You what?"
Alarmed, Bob strode back to him, this time grabbing him by the shoulders. He inspected him more closely.
"How did that happen?"
Bob turned Peter around, examining his back, checking that no piece of glass was encrusted in his skin.
"I tripped."
That was definitely a lie. One that Bob caught onto.
"Benjamin…" Bob warned.
"It was just some guys, but you don't have to worry —"
Bob suddenly turned Peter back to him, forcing him to face him. His eyes were wild, filled with fear he wasn't bothering to hide. The sudden display unsettled Peter.
"Some guys? Who were they? Who did that to you?"
"I don't know, I just went out because I needed to think and they just… happened to be there."
"Did you see their faces? Hear their names?"
"What? No!"
"Are you sure? Can you tell me anything about them?"
"I — I don't remember. But don't worry, the police came and they've been arrested."
"The police was there?"
"Y-yeah."
"Then why didn't they bring you back here themselves? Or even call us? You've been missing for hours, they have your profile, they should have known!"
Of course the Abbotts called the police. Dumbass.
"I… ran off?"
"You what now? Ok, come sit down," Bob commanded drily as gestured to the toilet seat.
Peter did as he was asked, wary. But Bob simply pulled out a fresh gauze, gorged it in antiseptic and got back to cleaning Peter's wounds. He was not gentle, but Peter didn't complain.
"I want to know everything from the moment you locked yourself in your room. You don't leave a single detail out."
Peter took a deep breath. He could not mess that one up. He exhaled, and started his story.
He told Bob what he wanted to hear. He told him about how he just went out to think. How he accidentally witnessed a robbery and the thieves attacked him because of it. He told him how someone saved him and stopped the crooks. How the police arrived and he ran away, came back home.
Bob listened without interrupting him. Thought for a while, in silence.
"You missed the part on how you snuck out through the window on the 12th floor."
Peter looked at Bob from the corner of his eye. He had moved onto his lower back cuts, but his attention was on his face, examining it. Peter looked away.
Shit.
He needed to think. Fast. There was no fire escape near his window, or it would have been too easy for his Parker luck, right? But how else could he explain a ten year old boy disappearing from his locked room tens of feet from the floor? He couldn't tell Bob about the spider-side of him; but there was no other explanation possible.
He wanted to trust the man. And after all the worry he caused him, he deserved the truth. But the truth was not only his to give anymore. Ultimately, the way it was handled would affect life beyond his scope.
He would have to ask Bob to trust him instead. Tell him that this part had to stay a secret. Bob wouldn't like it. But either he would accept it; or he'd turn him back to CPS. Which wasn't so bad since the Abbotts wouldn't have to worry about him anymore. Unless they reported his bad behavior too, giving reasons to the service to pay more attention to him.
He was about to take a leap of faith, and he was standing on the —
Of course.
"The ledge," Peter stammered. "There's that ledge, below the window. It goes all around the building. I followed it until I reached the fire escape."
Bob stopped moving altogether.
"You went on the… Are you insane? You could have died!"
"I know, I know, I'm sorry!"
"You risked your life just so you could go out to think?!"
"I know how it sounds—"
"Then you get attacked by armed robbers —"
"It won't happen again —"
"— and when you get back, you don't see fit to tell us you were hurt?!"
"…I didn't want to scare you."
"Well, that sure was a success! Do you even realize... What was going on in your mind?!" Bob whispered his shouts, his fear finally expressing itself through the anger spilling with his words. "How could you possibly think for one minute that it was a good idea to play tightrope walker? What would your parents say to that, huh? Do you think they'd allow it? Do you think they'd be proud of you?"
May would have been. She understood him. She acknowledged his drive. She had his back.
But she would have been scared too. Every time he came back hurt he tried to hide it from her — unless he was in too bad of a shape to treat himself on his own — because he knew that behind her brave façade and encouraging words, she was scared for him. He knew she used to follow the news whenever a big battle he was involved with was going on in town, hoping he'd come back home after. He knew every time he went on patrol she worried about him, despite her trust in him.
Yes she was proud.
But she was scared too.
Just like Sarah had been. Just like Bob was.
"I promised Sarah, and promise it again to you: I won't do it anymore." Peter turned to Bob, looked him in the eyes. "I'm sorry I made you worry that much, I didn't realize. I understand the risks I took and how stupid it was, and I understand I scared you. You have my word, I won't do it again."
Bob examined him, then exhaled sharply. He started working on Peter's leg.
Silence returned to the room. The tension seemed to have left somewhat, but not entirely.
When Bob finally spoke, his voice was softer, a trace of melancholy over-lining it.
"I'm just wondering what kind of horrors a boy could have been through that would make him think risking his life was not a big deal."
Peter looked away, unconsciously clenching his fists.
"I... You can't..." Imagine. "Please, don't call CPS. Don't tell them what I did, it was a stupid mistake and I don't want it to follow me."
For once, it was Bob who did not answer. Peter turned back to him, seeking his eyes. But either he did not notice, or, more likely, he pretended he was too focused on his task.
"Please," implored Peter, barely exaggerating his plea. "This could cause me a lot more trouble than it's worth."
"Alright, what about us then? Sarah and I. We've worked with CPS for years. We established ourselves as a trusted foster home. What do you think would happen if we start lying to them?"
"I know what I'm asking you is irresponsible."
"Exactly. And being responsible is accepting being held accountable for your mistakes."
Ouch. That one burnt harder than the rubbing alcohol on his cuts.
Peter rubbed the ball of his hands against his eyes, being more gentle on his puffed up lid. It seemed like the swell was already starting to go down. Peter let his hand fall back on his lap.
"You're right. I'm sorry. It's just..." He took a deep breath. Here came another half-truth, one that would just raise more questions for the Abbotts; but he guessed he could probably not get out of this one unscathed. "If my family learns about it, if I get a record, they'll freak out. And they don't deserve the stress, after everything they've been through."
He was maybe talking about an imaginary family to Bob, but the emotion in his voice was just as real as the fear he had of the Parkers discovering his existence.
"So, you do have a family after all. I was starting to wonder when you kept avoiding talking about yourself."
Peter played scared little orphan again as the discussion was stirring into dangerous waters.
"I don't know if they're... Just... Please."
Bob cast a quick glance to Peter. It seemed to work.
"I'm sorry," he apologized. "I'll think about it."
Peter nodded.
"Thanks."
Bob worked in silence after that, a feeling of awkwardness filling in instead of words. Bob finished with the cut on Peter's forehead. He dropped the last gauze with the others, near the almost empty antiseptic bottle, and sighed.
"I know you don't want to go to the hospital but you still need stitches."
Instantly, Peter was alert again. He almost jumped to his feet as he reached for the first aid kit.
"No, no, I'm fine I swear!"
"Hey, careful now, you'll restart the bleeding!" exclaimed Bob in a mild panic.
"Look, the cuts aren't that deep," Peter argued, extracting bandages from the bag. "We just need to tie those real tight and stitches won't be necessary."
"Benjamin..."
Peter looked Bob straight in the eyes and proclaimed with all the assurance in the world:
"I heal fast. Look, let's just do it for now. If tomorrow the cuts are still open then I'll agree to go to the hospital. Deal?"
Bob was incredulous.
"That's not how it works."
"Deal?" Peter insisted.
"You are really stubborn, do you know that?"
"Yeah, I've been told so once or twice," Peter smirked.
Bob managed to hide a smile behind a sigh as he took one of the bandages from Peter's hand.
Bob wasn't lying when he promised Sarah he wouldn't let Benjamin out of his sight. Peter was forced to stay next to Bob as he called the police to inform them the kid was back, and he left him no choice but to sleep in their room after Bob dragged his mattress in there. He wasn't leaving him any chances, but Peter knew better than to complain.
Sarah was not sleeping, but she had calmed down a lot by then. She gasped nonetheless when she saw Peter wrapped up in bandages.
That night, no one went back to sleep.
END CHAPTER NOTES
Hey guys,
So, you're gonna laugh but... this is still not the whole chapter.
When I realized I reached 15k words for that part 2 alone and that it still wasn't close to finished I decided to spilt the chapter... again!
Sorry, I'm still new at this and I didn't realize how long this would get x) Next update will be the end of what the whole third chapter was supposed to be! (no splitting again next time, I promise! This won't become a running gag x) )
Usual thanks to Noiter and SanaTomb 3
And feel free to leave comments, I love reading your thoughts on the story 3