June 2012
The smell wasn't so bad. At least, that's what Peter wanted to believe. After a few daily sessions of dumpster diving, Peter almost managed to convince himself that he'd grown accustomed to the reek. And he very much so forced himself to ignore the fact that summer was just beginning, and that the stench of rotting food was only doomed to get worse.
Over the course of the last few days, Peter had learnt that dumpster diving for food was not so different from looking for retro tech, as he used to do as a teenager; the major distinction being that instead of going through weird and sometimes disturbingly gross stuff in private containers, he now had to face the stench of food left to decay in the sun all day long in a malodorous back alley. If someone were to ask him, he honestly couldn't tell which one he liked less. Although, when diving for tech, he was at least not supposed to eat what he found.
Peter had stretched his twenty dollars thin for as long as he could, spacing meals and sometimes skipping them; but he couldn't make it last forever either, especially with a high-speed metabolism like his.
The container Peter was rummaging through was located in a small alley behind a restaurant. The evening service had ended hours ago and a good share of leftover foods had been discarded. Peter had chosen the late hour of the night to go scavenging, as he preferred to avoid attracting unnecessary attention to himself; he hadn't bailed on the Abbots just to get back into CPS nets so soon.
Crouched on the edge of the dumpster, Peter heaved a deep sigh. He had to admit the obvious: in his fear of being seen by anyone, he had waited too long, and the freshest food had already been salvaged.
"What did I do in my past life to deserve such bad karma?" he muttered.
"You split a ferry in half," a familiar voice whispered back in his ears.
Peter had found a pair of earphones during one of his previous diving sessions. The right side was slightly less loud than its counterpart, but the item was otherwise in very good condition, if a bit dirty. Even after all those years, Peter was still amazed that people would want to get rid of things that were still working relatively well; one man's sorrow was definitely another man's joy. Since he had found the earphones, Peter could hide away his smartphone and pretend he was having a phone call when he wanted to speak with Karen in public, which had made his days ten times better.
"Thanks for reminding me of my mistakes," Peter replied in a tone that he wanted flat; but he still smiled at the memory.
"My pleasure."
Peter jumped out of the dumpster; he would try his luck elsewhere. He rejoined the main street, almost silent at this very early hour of the morning, safe for the never ending traffic running a few streets away and the soft slap of his feet on the ground. The wet asphalt reflected the orange hue of the street lights, and Peter, despite his growing hunger, enjoyed the bit of respite the atmosphere procured him, however small it was. It had rained earlier in the day, which meant that Peter was stuck on foot, since the soles of his shoes were too thick to allow his feet any traction on walls. He felt exposed on the ground, but he didn't want to wet his only pair of socks either. But despite the ambient calm and the silence of his spider-sense assuring him that he was alone, Peter was on edge, his senses reflexively alert.
"Karen, can you tell me something?" he asked in a low voice.
"Yes, Peter?"
"Why a child?
"I'm afraid I don't understand."
"Why do I have to look like a child?" He vented. "Couldn't I have been a few years older so that I could at least get a part time job and pay for my food, instead of having to go dumpster diving for it?"
Peter's stomach rumbled, as if to prove his point.
"I can't find any answer to your question in my database, Peter."
"I know," he yielded. "I didn't expect you to."
Peter had been on his own for no more than two weeks, and he was already getting fed up by the whole situation. He had made no progress on his quest to warn the avengers as he still had no clue on how to get to them, and trying to stay out of sight turned out to require more of his attention than he had first anticipated. He was afraid of getting caught, not only for the sake of his mission, but also for the consequences for his family. The lack of a safe and permanent shelter was also a big drain of energy for him, since he could never fully relax to recharge his batteries; and that was with him having powers. Through this experience, he formed a newfound sympathy for other homeless people, as he didn't even dare to imagine how scary it must be for regular human beings.
Peter scoffed as a thought crossed his mind.
"You know, at this point I'd be ready to receive any kind of help. You could throw me the shadiest magic pact and I think I'd accept it right away. Heck, I'm so desperate you could even send Loki to my rescue, and I'd be ready to trust him with all my heart!"
Peter stopped dead in his tracks as realization hit him.
"That's it!"
"Do you intend to ask Loki for help?" Karen inquired disapprovingly.
"What? No!" He shook his head. "You'd have to be crazy to even consider that."
He resumed walking, a renewed purpose pushing him forward. His protesting stomach was swept in a corner of his mind, forgotten.
"No, not Loki. Doctor Strange!"
"Are you sure about that, Peter?"
"I mean, he's supposed to be a good guy, right? He's not the nicest dude ever, but he told us his priority was to protect this reality, right? And I'm pretty sure our goals align there," Peter explained excitedly. "Also, he's a magician! He'll be more inclined to believe me since he's already feet deep in the weird."
"That sounds like a good plan, Peter."
"I can only agree with you," he shamelessly acknowledged. "I can't believe I didn't think about it earlier. Where do I find him?"
"I don't know, Peter. I cannot find any information regarding Doctor Strange in my database."
Peter stopped once again in his tracks, the news halting him in his momentum.
"What? How come?"
"Doctor Strange wasn't known to the Avengers before our encounter on May 12, 2022."
"Wait, really?"
Peter resumed walking once more, this time at a slower pace.
"I guess it's gonna make finding him a bit more difficult," he said carefully.
But that didn't mean impossible; and Peter was determined. He spotted a Starbucks a few buildings away, and headed in its direction.
"Karen, connect to the wifi please," he asked as he pulled out his phone from his pocket.
Thankful for the free wi-fi access, he leaned against the wall, opened his web browser, and typed 'Doctor Strange' in the search bar. He doubted he would find anything, but he did have to start somewhere, after all.
To his surprise, however, an abundance of articles and web pages popped in his feed. Peter scrolled through them, perplexed. The man he had found in the results was indeed Doctor Strange; the pictures were evidence enough. However, he was presented not as a wizard, but… as a neurosurgeon?
"So that was his real name," Peter marveled, as he read Stephen Strange's denomination headline after headline.
"It's funny, I would never have believed him to have a civilian identity… I thought he would be doing wizard full time or something. How does he find the time to balance both?"
"Probably like you do, Peter."
"I certainly hope not," he sneered. "I barely manage to do it, and I don't even have a real job yet. The man must be a genius; no wonder he is the guardian of reality."
Peter pulled up Strange's LinkedIn profile.
"And it looks like he works at Metro-General at that!" Peter exclaimed relieved to discover that he wouldn't have to cross the country to meet him. It looked more and more like a match made in heaven.
"Karen, can you get me his schedule?"
"Give me a minute."
There was a silence as Karen worked her magic. Peter scrolled through LinkedIn, reviewing the impressive resume Strange had shared on his profile. He spoke, after a spell.
"I can't believe Strange was there from the beginning, right under the Avengers nose, and we never knew about him."
"He does have abilities we can barely understand. It isn't that surprising, Peter."
"Good point."
The screen on Peter's phone changed from the social app to a timetable.
"Here's the schedule you asked for."
"You're amazing," Peter thanked her.
He studied the document.
"Looks like he's getting off at 8 tonight."
A fleeting hope crossed Peter's mind.
"Karen, what do you know exactly about the time stone?"
"No more than you do. Do you need me to remind you of the properties Doctor Strange told us about?"
"No, I'm good. I was just wondering if… you know… he could help me out with my current age problem."
"I believe the time stone could be indeed capable of such power," offered Karen.
Peter couldn't help but smile.
Having decided the next course of actions, more pressing matters came back to the forefront of his mind. His stomach decided to make its presence known to him again with a loud rumble. Peter placed a hand on his abdomen in a futile attempt to quench the sound.
"Guess it's time to go back hunting for food," he stated, disenchanted, as he headed towards a yet unexplored back alley.
After the events now universally referred to as "the Battle Of New York, life had resumed in Manhattan in only a matter of days. The signs of what had transpired were still visible, but New Yorkers were resilient and wouldn't let so much as an alien invasion interfere with their day to day life. That is how, not even a month after the event, the streets were filled again with people.
Oddly enough, Peter felt invisible in huge crowds. He would have thought that the more people around, the higher the risks for him to be called out for being alone. But amongst oblivious tourists with their nose turned up, the tall skyscrapers, and busy commuters, Peter was relatively unseen; and the assured step in his walk ensured to put off most of the more observant passers by.
That is how Peter found himself standing on the sidewalk across the former Stark Tower, staring up at it, hands in his pocket and hood pulled tight on his head. There was something he had always dreamt of doing ever since he first received his abilities; that was, if the tower had not changed ownership before he moved his sector of patrol from Queens to Manhattan. His internal musing had lead him to that spot, and the overall boredom he felt pushed him to toy more and more with the idea. His days now consisted mostly of looking for food, stray money and muggers — muggers he could only take down at night to protect his anonymity— and Peter's perpetual state of restlessness made him stoop so low as to consider ideas that he knew could quickly go wrong. If he was caught…
"Karen, are you sure it's safe?"
"Yes, Peter. Mr Stark installed motion and heat sensors on the exterior of the tower only when he modified it to house the Iron Legion in March 2014. Until that date, the top of the tower will be unprotected on the outside. However, I would not recommend you do it, Peter. You shouldn't even be here."
"I know."
"To put it in your own words: 'Don't screw your chances'. You will meet with Doctor Strange tonight. I am sure he will help you contact the Avengers, but he can only do so if you have not gotten yourself arrested."
She was right, of course. Peter gave himself a mental slap. He had not gotten through the hardships of being on his own for the sake of his mission only to risk it all only a few days in.
"Thanks for the reminder, mom."
Yet, it was reluctantly that Peter turned away and blended back into the crowd.
Poised in a dark corner of the ceiling in Metro-General's parking lot with a perfect view on the personnel entrance, Peter was growing impatient. The surge of activity brought by the change to the night shift had died down a while ago, and Peter had yet to spot Doctor Strange. He checked his phone for the umpteenth time: it was now almost ten, and Peter was starting to wonder if he hadn't missed Strange all together. He had come an hour early by measure of precaution, but it was starting to appear like it might not have been enough.
Minutes passed. Peter was fidgeting more and more, barely able to keep still any time someone walked through the double sliding glass doors, only to be disappointed none of them were his target.
Karen informed Peter when 10 o'clock rang. Doubting he still had a chance to meet with Strange, Peter gave up for the day.
It turned out to be the best idea ever.
After the big disappointment of the evening, Peter had decided to discard all of Karen's warnings and go for it. He had reached the Avengers tower with a well placed web from the top of a nearby building so as to avoid the security of the lowest levels, and had then scaled the glass panes. Peter had been careful to avoid every single lit window, and had been very intent on listening to his spider-sense; he had been ready to jump at its smallest spike. But it never once made itself known.
Peter had reached the large A without any issue, and was now basking in his genius. Not only did the angle make it so that he could see inside what appeared to be Tony's lab, currently unoccupied, without being seen — unless someone was purposefully looking for him, which Peter felt he was safe from as people never look up — but he also had free access to the internet. The wifi password appeared to be the same as the one from the future upstate facility, to Peter's greatest delight. Lying back in the A, he felt like he could finally relax for the first time in days.
Peter was examining a freshly uploaded version of Stephen Strange's schedule to try to understand why he missed him. He tiredly rubbed at his face.
"His last surgery was rescheduled to another day. I can't believe I waited so long when he'd been home for hours already."
"Do you want to try again tomorrow?"
"He gets off at 6. Isn't it a bit early?"
"It is a regular hour to finish work, Peter."
"I'm lucky I have you Karen; I would have never known otherwise," chuckled Peter. "What I meant is that it'll still be very bright and I won't be able to hide on the ceiling. It's too low, I'm going to be seen."
"Maybe it will be the occasion for you to act less inconspicuous for once?"
Light flooded the lab, and all retort was forgotten. Peter slowly twisted, alert, and looked down into the room. He was ready to jump any moment; but his spider-sense remained silent, and Peter unnoticed.
Tony walked into the room and sat heavily at his workstation. He stayed there for a while, pensive. Peter observed, not daring to move. When Tony bent down and retrieved a glass and a bottle of liquor from an adjacent cabinet, Peter wasn't that surprised, but it didn't diminish the pang he felt at the sight in any way. He knew about Tony's alcohol issues –knew how he had almost managed to stop until the Battle of New York made him dive in again. As Tony drank broodingly, Peter watched, powerless.
Peter was lying flat against the wall, hiding behind a car. He regretted his life choices, despising Karen for letting her convince him to do this. He was hoping very dearly that every person that walked by wasn't the owner of one of the nearby cars as he would have a hell of time explaining what a child was doing hiding in a parking lot.
Peter had stolen a bit of wifi before coming, making sure that Strange's schedule hadn't been changed at the last minute. He still had come early, just in case, and had taken his sweet time to select a relatively good hiding spot with an almost perfect view of the entrance. He wouldn't miss him this time.
And sure enough, Strange walked out the doors a small fifteen minutes after clocking out. Peter's stomach squeezed with anticipation when he saw the familiar face. Making sure no one else was around, Peter stealthily approached the sorcerer. He was one last row of cars away from him when the sound of the glass doors sliding open made Peter jump for cover.
A blond woman trotted behind Strange. They kneaded hands when she caught up with him, and resumed walking together to the Doctor's car. Peter followed them from behind his row, cursing at his Parker luck. He hoped the woman would leave quickly; but seeing how intimately close the two of them were getting, Peter could already picture his chances to get a tête-à-tête with the man dwindle in front of his eyes. Crouched behind a car, Peter observed through a window as the woman stole a passionate kiss to the Doctor, which he didn't seem to mind the least.
Someone cleared their throat.
"What are you doing, young man?"
Peter jumped and turned around, eyes wide. He had been so focused that he had zeroed-out on the scene and forgot to pay attention to his surroundings.
"Aren't you too young to get an eyeful?" the nurse continued, frowning. She did not bother to keep her voice low.
Peter reddened despite himself, horrified.
"It's not what it looks like," Peter said before he could think, and immediately regretted it. Because that was, of course, the best thing to say to draw out suspicions, yes?
"Oh really? So you weren't spying on two adults kissing?" she asked Peter smugly.
Peter stole a quick glance behind him. Strange and his partner were looking in their direction, seemingly very amused by the situation. The scarlet of Peter's face grew a few tones stronger.
The nurse knew she had stuck him in a corner. She probably found the picture just as entertaining as the doctors, if her small, slightly lopsided, smile was anything to go by. Peter could think of nothing to say that wouldn't dig his hole of shame even deeper.
"What are you doing out here anyway?" she pried when she realized Peter wasn't going to answer.
"I, er… I was visiting someone —with my family— and, er… I needed some air?"
"Right. And you figured that the parking lot was a safe place to do so?"
Peter had rarely wished as much as he was now to snatch a web and disappear. But he was not wearing his mask; and the Spider-man persona was not a thing yet. So instead, he decided to play along and put on the act of the ashamed kid.
He shrugged. The nurse rolled her eyes.
"Come on, let's get back inside."
As Peter followed her, he made sure to turn his head well away from the couple, unable to bear their look. He briefly considered running away; but he quickly came to the conclusion that the nurse had had plenty of time to examine his face, and that he couldn't be sure she wouldn't call the police if he made for a run. He would have to go for a smooth exit.
They stepped through the door, and immediately Peter remembered how much he loved air conditioning. Wearing a hoodie in June was not his brightest idea; even if he had a good reason to do so.
The nurse seemed to notice his discomfort.
"Take that sweater off, it's way too hot for that. And it makes you look suspicious."
Peter held back a retort and obeyed. He may not have been daring to contradict her; but a part of him also had to admit she was right.
The nurse took them both through a maze of corridors that lead them to the reception. She slid behind the desk and took hold of an unoccupied computer.
"What's your name?" she inquired as she accessed the register.
"Ben."
"And who are you visiting?"
"I don't remember."
The nurse shot him a pointed look, and Peter felt obliged to elaborate.
"He's my mom's friend. Never met him before."
"Do you at least know where his room his?"
Peter shook his head.
If the nurse had seemed amused by his antics on the parking lot, she was now starting to lose patience.
"But it's alright, though. I told her I would be waiting for her over there," he quickly lied, pointing at the waiting room.
The nurse scrutinized him before motioning to the lounge, defeated. Peter nodded and turned away. She was still cursing under her breath at all the irresponsible parents in the world leaving their children unsupervised in a hospital when she got out of hearing range.
Peter selected a seat that had a free outlet below it. As he turned around to sit, setting his backpack down from his shoulder, he saw the nurse speaking with another one occupying the reception desk, and caught her just in time as she pointed at him with a sharp movement of her head. The receptionist looked at him, nodded, and the nurse walked away. Peter was being watched.
If he had to pretend he was waiting for his mom, he might as well make good use of that time. With a sigh, Peter bent down and pulled out of his bag his wrecked but still functioning phone charger, that he had found during yet another one of his dumpster diving sessions. He managed to plug his phone without taking it out of his sweater's pocket, and then settled for the boring wait.
His eyes quickly caught sight of the vending machine in the corner of the room, and his stomach started to rumble loudly at the sight of the sandwiches and energy bars but a glass panel away. Peter looked in the opposite direction, determined to forget about the luring food. He had no money anyways. However, his stomach refused to be fooled by the sudden disappearance of the victuals from Peter's line of sight; it protested even louder at the affront. Peter crossed his arms, resolute, and looked daggers at the offensive machine, as if daring it to tempt him some more.
The scene seemed to amuse the man sitting across from him.
"Hungry?"
"No, I'm ok," Peter belied, embarrassed.
After a minute of obvious rattles in his abdomen, the man seemed unable to ignore Peter any longer.
"I can get you something if you want. I have a growing boy, around your age. I know what it's like."
Peter felt very tempted.
"My mom will be here soon."
But after fifteen minutes, Peter had still not observed any worthwhile opportunity to get away, and its stomach was still making itself known.
"You know… I'm pretty sure your mom wouldn't want you to go starving on her account," the man tried again.
Peter had to close his eyes, taken unaware, as the picture of Aunt May took over his mind.
"You're right," Peter couldn't help but smile, suddenly feeling nostalgic.
The man got up, victorious.
"Come on," he motioned for Peter to come with a gesture of his hand. "What do you want?"
Peter joined him, leaving his sweater with his charging phone on his seat. He looked over the selection, trying to find the cheapest item. But his eyes might have lingered a bit too long on the chicken sandwiches.
"Sandwich?" the man observed.
Peter nodded, giving in to his stomach's demand.
Peter could never thank enough this generous soul sent straight from heaven. It was the best chicken sandwich he ever had.
Peter must have fallen asleep. The next thing he knew, he was being shaken awake by the receptionist. The nice man was gone, and the waiting room was almost empty.
"Hey kid, is everything ok?"
"Yes, why?" Peter asked, trying to clear away the remnants of sleep blurring his brain.
"Visits finished two hours ago. Shouldn't you be home already?"
"I — uh oh."
Peter finally remembered the full picture. His brain immediately switched to panic mode. He scanned his surroundings, and saw his opportunity in a couple walking towards the main public entrance.
"Here's my mom, thank you!"
Peter snatched his stuff and ran after the couple without glancing back. He then walked calmly behind them once he reached them, pretending he was with them. As soon as he was outside, he made a beeline for the opposite direction the couple went in.
"That was the most embarrassing day of my life."
Peter was scaling the Avengers Tower, seeking a safe place to hide away from the world after the fiasco that was his trip to the hospital. The fact that he at least got a chance to recharge his batteries saved the day from being a total disaster.
"Even more embarrassing than that time you were photographed napping in a dumpster?"
"Ah yes, thanks for bringing that up," Peter replied sarcastically. "Then, that makes it the second most embarrassing day. And I was knocked out, not sleeping."
"That's not what the Bugle said."
"I'm starting to believe you're not trying to help me, Karen."
As Peter neared the A, he noticed light emanating from the lab. He approached cautiously, allowing only the very top of his head to go over the level of the room's floor to check if he was safe to pass by the window.
Only Tony was occupying the room, and to Peter's relief, tonight, he was not drowning his unwelcome thoughts in alcohol. He was working on a project, his back on the bay window, rocking his head softly to the rhythm of a music Peter couldn't hear through the thick glass. Tony appeared busy enough that Peter judged it safe to try and reach the A. He snatched a web and zipped past the windows, unbeknownst to Tony, before landing softly on the warm metal of the illuminated vowel. His socks absorbed the excess sound. Peter silently un-shouldered his backpack, always keeping an eye on his friend. As he settled comfortably, he noticed something odd in Tony's behavior he hadn't spotted before; Tony seemed too focused, his movements a bit too sharp. All preoccupation regarding the hospital disaster vanished.
Peter knew that kind of concentration. Tony was not working for the pleasure of getting things done, nor for the thrill of the invention; he was in this special zone of his that he would lose himself to when he had too much on his mind. Peter had witnessed Tony go without sleep for days in a row when he was in that state; and seeing him like this now did little to appease Peter, as he knew that, once more, there was nothing he could do to help him.
Peter was seriously starting to consider foregoing the trip to the A altogether, judging by how helpless it seemed to leave him every time.
A new figure walked into the lab, jutting Peter out of his musing. Pepper deposited a seemingly heavy cardboard box at her feet, straightened back up and, hands on her hips, talked to Tony; but he kept on working, undisturbed. After Pepper said something, head tilted towards the ceiling, — probably asking Jarvis to stop music —, Tony finally looked up, and immediately adopted a relaxed posture in his seat. Peter could not see his face from his vantage point, but he was almost sure the mechanic had plastered on a smile. Peter could only guess what the quick back and forth between the couple was about, but according to Pepper's stance, it seemed to Peter that Tony was trying to pretend that everything was alright, and that Pepper was having none of it. She bent back down to pick up the box, and brought it to Tony's workbench. She then gave her lover a soft kiss on the forehead, told him one last thing, and left the room.
Peter was torn between shame for having spied on the intimacy of his friends, and a strange sort of longing, almost content but not quite, for having been a witness to an interaction so familiar yet so distant to him. But craving for more, he didn't take his eyes off Tony as the mechanic considered the box now begging for his attention. Tony finally put down the screwdriver he had been holding the whole time as he lost to his curiosity. Peter, himself intrigued by the mysterious content, craned his neck.
Envelopes. Tons and tons of pre-opened envelopes. The address of the Avengers Tower was written on them in every possible ways: printed, wobbly childlike letters, smooth cursive. Tony picked one of those first and opened it. He found inside a long, handwritten letter, with a small iron-man drawn with colored pens at the bottom.
The box contained fan mail. As Tony went through a fair amount of them, he finally seemed to relax in a way that Pepper had not managed to help him achieve by her presence earlier on.
At some point of the night, Tony left the lab, his work remaining forgotten. Peter could never praise Pepper enough for her foresight.
Despite the previous failures, Peter was determined to make it work. He would meet with Strange, and he would do it tonight. He had a good feeling about it.
It was past eleven. The doctor's last surgery had supposedly ended a half hour ago; Peter had made sure before coming it hadn't been canceled, and he was now waiting patiently, hiding once again in his dark corner of the parking lot ceiling.
Yet, Peter could almost not believe it when Strange exited the hospital, alone, a few minutes later. Luck was finally on his side!
Excited, Peter dropped silently to the floor. He stuffed his mask in a pocket and removed his hood, freeing his blond curls to look as trustworthy as possible, before approaching his prey.
"Doctor Strange? We need to talk," Peter asserted.
The man had been about to open the door on the driver side of his luxurious car. He jumped slightly, but didn't bother turning around.
"I don't talk about business outside of work hours. If you want a consultation, take an appointment like everyone else," he said tersely, pulling the door handle.
"I'm not here for the doctor side of you. I'm here for… the strange one."
This gave the man a pause. He closed the door and turned around, examining, for the first time, the person who dared bother him at such a late hour.
"Should I know you?" He asked Peter, barely managing to hide his confusion.
"Yes… And no. I mean, you don't know me yet, but you will. At some point… in the future."
"Am I your…?"
"My what?" Peter repeated, confounded, before realizing the meaning behind Strange's words. "Oh! No, not at all. We're not related."
He tried not to linger on the fact that the doctor even thought it was a possibility.
"Then what do you…? Wait. Aren't you that kid from yesterday?" The doctor observed, a condescending, almost imperceptible half-smile appearing on his lips.
"No, I'm not!" Peter replied a bit too fast, unable to stop his cheeks from turning a bright red. He had sincerely hoped Strange would not have memorized his face. "I mean... Yes, I am, but I was not spying on you guys on purpose. I was not trying to pry or anything, just—" Peter marked a pause. "This is a disaster. Please let me start over."
Peter looked down, exhaled a deep breath, squared his shoulders. When he looked back up, he stared Strange straight in the eyes.
"Doctor Strange, I need your help."
The doctor considered Peter, looking him up and down. He crossed his arms and leaned on his car.
"Alright kid, you have 2 minutes."
This was his chance.
"I know who you are. Who you really are," Peter revealed.
"Do you?" the Doctor asked, an eyebrow raised, amusement creeping in his tone like a defense mechanism.
"But it's ok! Because me too."
"Is that so?"
"Not exactly like you though. I'm not into the… weird, like you are. I mean… I'm in a different kind of weird. But I know what it's like."
"Please, enlighten me."
Peter understood Doctor Strange would not yield anything unless he gave him a definitive proof which, in all honesty, Peter could only understand as he would probably have reacted the same way in his situation. He checked that no one was eavesdropping, and took a step closer.
"Listen," he whispered, spreading his hands in front of him as if he were trying to physically keep the volume low. "We met already; but not in this time. I'm from the future, and we will meet in 2022. I saw the end of this reality, and— and you were there, with me. I don't know how, or why I ended up back here, but I guess it's to try to prevent the end of the world. And I thought you could help me figure out how to—"
"Alright, I've had enough," Strange cut him mid-sentence. "It's cute, it's very cute. But I have other things to do than to listen to a child's fantasy at this time of the night. What are you doing out alone? And why aren't you wearing any shoes?"
Peter looked at him, horrified. The small buzz of his spider-sense finally enabled realization to hit him.
"Oh... You're not there yet," he said, his eyes growing wide as he took an involuntary step back. "Please, just forget about all of this, ok? No spoiler there. I'm sorry for bothering you, Mr Strange."
The man approached Peter.
"Don't tell me you escaped from the child psychiatry ward."
Peter shook his head.
"I swear I'm not. I'm gonna get going now, ok? …Yep, seems like a good idea."
Before the doctor could grab him, Peter turned away and ran.
"Hey!" Strange cried out, hurrying to follow in Peter's footsteps.
But Peter was faster. As soon as he was out of sight behind a corner, he pulled his hood over his head and launched a web, all in one fluid movement, leaving an eerily empty corridor for Strange to find.
At the first free wifi spot he could connect to, Peter, still heavily panting, begged Karen, "Please, please, please, hack Metro's security network and delete every single video they have of me".
Peter had been sulking for days. Having put too much hope in Strange being a solution to all his current issues, the reality check was hard to swallow: at no point had he envisioned the possibility that the doctor wasn't a wizard yet, and he was now paying the price of his delusion. During the days building up to the disastrous encounter, Peter hadn't had much else to do other than imagine all the ways the sorcerer could have helped him; including the possibility to magically restore him to his adult size. He was now back to square one: he had only his disadvantaged self (and Karen, fortunately) to rely on, and still not a clue on how to warn the Avengers of the impending doom. Peter had been even more wary as he was suspecting the doctor had reported his suspicious meeting to local authorities. Peter could not blame him if he had, as it is what he would have done in his place. Or maybe he would have at least tried to find the kid first? Then tell the police only if he couldn't. But he doubted Strange would have bothered at all; and he had no means to know for sure, as he would rather not ask Karen to hack the police. He thus decided it would be for the best if he stayed out of sight for a while. The forced isolation did nothing to help improve his mood though. Not that he had been especially social since he left the Abbotts, but he could at least forget his own problems when he was listening to the New Yorker's amongst the crowds he would conceal himself into. Being all alone sucked.
Peter was back in Queens to try and put some distance with the awkward memory. It was the early hours of the morning and Peter managed to avoid the few souls that came his way. He was putting very little heart in his current search for food: he kept strolling the streets, promising himself he would inspect the next alley for a potential dumpster; then the next, then the following one. It's not that he wasn't hungry; he just wasn't hungry enough to motivate a swim amongst the not-so-fresh food, arguably preferring to bemoan his fate.
As he meandered of mind and body, a post office came in sight. The building reminded him of that night a week prior, when Pepper managed to sooth Tony's mind with fan-mail. The memory warmed Peter's heart, prompting a small smile on his face for nobody to see. As he got closer to the edifice, recollections of a conversation trickled back in his mind:
"Well, you don't have to tell him yourself. You could find other ways to get the story across to him…" Sarah had told him. "…You could write him a letter."
Peter came to an abrupt stop. He looked at the post office in disbelief, unable to refrain his thoughts from forming the scheme that was exploding in his mind.
"Karen," Peter said in his earphone's microphone, awed, "I think I got a plan."
Peter rummaged through the drawers of Midtown High's school office for an envelope. He didn't enjoy the thought of stealing, but he was on a mission—and he was still short on money. He figured the school wouldn't miss it anyway.
"No, I'm not going to tell him the whole story in a letter, that'd be stupid," Peter retorted to Karen. "But I think I can sway things from afar. I mean, essentially, the main reason why we failed on Titan in the first place is because the whole Avengers team wasn't together, yeah? And what broke them apart?"
Peter had plugged his phone to charge on the first outlet he saw when he entered the room.
"It was the Sokovia Accords, Peter," Karen replied on speaker.
"On the record yes, but not entirely. Do you remember? Tony told me once he was struggling with PTSD amongst other things after the Battle of New York. I'm sure it played out in what happened between Tony and Cap."
"Are you implying his learning the truth about Mr. and Mrs. Stark's assassination would be the cause of the Avengers breaking apart?"
"Not just implying —I know it is. Tony told me so. I understand Cap lying to Tony was a big deal, but if he had been in a better head space, maybe he wouldn't have taken the news so hard, and maybe the team wouldn't have split."
"That's a lot of 'maybes', Peter."
"I know… But it's worth a try, don't you think? If I can somehow reach him through letters, maybe I could, I don't know, stir things from far away without actually having to talk to him… Help him get better, you know?"
Peter couldn't bring himself to say it.
"It seems like a weak plan, Peter."
He sighed.
"It is. But it's all I have for now."
He knew he was grasping at straws. He knew the chances of Tony reading his letter were close to zero, what with the hundreds of fan-mails he was receiving everyday. But Peter was also aware of his one advantage: he knew how to talk to Tony. All he needed was for one letter to grab his attention, and his plan would be set in motion. It would most certainly fail if he only sent the one letter he was about to write; but if he mailed just enough of those, Tony was bound to get one of his at some point.
"Found it!" Peter exclaimed, victoriously raising his arm, loot in hand.
He sent the drawer flying closed and headed for the closest desk, pulling a blank paper from a printer on his way. He yanked the chair, sat down, grabbed a pen...
And stared at the paper.
After all his justification to Karen — and to himself — Peter realized he had no idea what to write to get the point across without sounding cringey. The more he looked at the empty paper, the more uneasy he became.
"I'm really about to write a fan-letter to Tony, aren't I?"
"It seems like you are," Karen replied.
Peter could have sworn she was smug. He leaned back in his chair, crossing his arms.
"What can I tell him?" he wondered out loud, staring at the paper as if it would spontaneously fill itself on its own.
"What do you think he needs to hear?" Karen countered with another question.
Peter turned his head towards his phone, dumbfounded. For an AI, Karen could be incredibly perceptive sometimes.
"Good point," he acknowledged.
Peter pondered for a bit, absentmindedly tapping the top of the pen against his neck, his other hand supporting the weight of his head. He ran a few ideas in his mind, considering them, then readied the nib when an outline had formed.
Dear Tony, Peter wrote, before immediately scrapping it. He wasn't on first name basis with his friend anymore.
Dear Mr. Stark,
I wanted to thank you for protecting us during the battle of New York. You might doubt it sometimes, but you really are a hero. Your actions ever since you became Iron Man prove it. You took responsibility for your mistakes and made something great out of them. You became someone you can be proud of. I know your near sacrifice took a toll on you, but never forget why you did it. Keep your close ones near you, especially Pepper (and Happy and Rhodey too). They love you and they want what's best for you. They will help you get better. You will get better. As long as the Avengers stay together, the world will be safe.
Your Friendly Neighborhood Spider-Man
Peter scribbled a little spider next to his signature. He put the pen down and laid back in his chair, taking in his whole text, unconvinced.
"This is so lame," he said self-deprecatingly, rubbing his eyes tiredly.
"Are you done writing the letter?" Karen inquired.
"I think so? If I add anything else, the whole thing will be so cheesy I can't see how Tony wouldn't be able to smell it from a mile away."
"At least you would be sure he would find the letter if it smells."
"Or throw it away without opening it."
"This also seems like a likely outcome."
Peter felt so awkward, he didn't know if pursuing this plan was a good idea anymore. Only the thought that it was his best option pushed him to shove the letter in the envelope.
On top of giving Peter a wide berth, people were openly staring at him when they thought he wasn't looking —that was what he got for choosing to go to the post office dressed in his makeshift suit. Not that it particularly stood out: after all, it was composed of his everyday dark hoodie and joggers; but the red spray-painted spider on his chest and his half-mask especially made for a pretty unusual sight even for New York.
Peter was waiting in line, trying to look as nonchalant as possible. He had had years to hone his ability to ignore the weird looks he got when wearing the suit and, once more, he put that skill to good use. Under the surface, however, he felt extremely uncomfortable. Not only was this the first time he'd went out in public in a week, but it was also his debut wearing his full attire in broad daylight. It was not a decision he had made light-heartedly; if anything, he would have preferred to avoid attracting so much attention to himself. It was only for the sake of his family that he chose to put the mask on: if Tony read his letter and decided to track him down for x or y reason, Peter couldn't risk having his face exposed leading all the way to his past-self. The post office had cameras, and facial recognition softwares didn't care about one's hair color.
Peter's turn finally came. He took a step forward, carefully holding the letter so that the recipient's address wasn't visible.
"Hi, I need a stamp please."
Despite his thorough tour of the school's office, Peter hadn't been able to find any.
The receptionist, an intimidating, overworked lady in her forties, didn't look at him. She kept her focus on sorting the previous client's letters.
"It'll be 11$."
"I need a single stamp, not a full book."
"We don't sell stamps by the unit," she stated, casting him a glance from the corner of the eye. When she noticed Peter's garb, she finally gave him her full attention. She straightened up, raising an eyebrow.
"And what are you supposed to be...?"
"Er... A man spider?"
"A man... Spider? How is that even supposed to be a spider? This looks more like a failed attempt at a wrestling costume to me. Why are you dressed like that?"
"It's... Ah... It's just my thing, you know? And come on, this is totally a spider," Peter debated, pointing at his chest.
The post lady sighed, shaking her head as if her faith in the future generation had been drained by this conversation.
"Kids these days. I always knew those anime things were a bad influence on children."
Peter elected to not argue any further.
"Look, is there any way I can get that stamp?"
"Buy the book."
"But I can't afford it. I don't have that much," Peter reddened, lowering his voice despite himself.
"Then stop wasting my time. There are other people waiting for their turn," she scolded, gesturing at the line behind Peter.
"Please, it's very important that I send it," he insisted, sliding the letter on the counter.
He hated begging, especially for something as trivial looking as fan mail. The lady was two seconds away from shooing Peter off when she noticed the address carefully written on the envelope. She took it, examining it closer, before studying a very awkward-feeling Peter in a new light. Her face softened very subtly as she seemed to draw her own conclusion to what was actually going on.
She sighed heavily. Still keeping her seemingly closed off demeanor, she grabbed bills out of her own wallet, threw them in the cash register and grabbed a book. She peeled off a stamp.
Peter understood too late what she was doing.
"No, please, you don't have to do that," he exclaimed, his blush deepening.
She ignored him, her hands easily placing the stamp on the envelope with years of practice, her eyes never leaving Peter. There was no stopping her.
"I needed a new book anyway, you just gave me a reason to get one sooner," she clarified.
"Well, that's… thanks. I don't know what to say," he said, grateful.
Peter slid his last 55 cents towards her. She refused them, gesturing to Peter to take them back.
"I have a niece around your age," she explained as she slipped the envelope below the counter. "She's a big fan too. Every time I see her she talks about how she'll become an Avenger when she grows up."
"I'm not—" Peter tried to diffuse, not comfortable with how close to the truth she was. But the post lady wouldn't let him talk.
"Just be careful out there, ok? Don't do anything dangerous. You're still a kid."
"I'm older than I look," Peter couldn't help but defend himself.
The post lady scoffed.
"Yeah, right. Now get on kid, I have other clients. Have a nice day."
Peter thanked her one last time and turned away. As he was about to slip through the door, the post lady called him back one last time.
"And kid?"
Peter looked back at her.
"Choose something other than spiders. Nobody likes spiders."
"I do," Peter retorted. "Spiders are dope."
As he left, Peter decided it was time he found a way to get his own money if he was to pursue he fan-mail plan.
END CHAPTER NOTES:
Hey guys, I'm very sorry for the long delay, I got caught up in school work real bad ^^' But now I'm back! I hope you enjoyed the chapter, I had a lot of fun writting it! :D As usual, special thanks to Note and AO3 user Jani_Tomb 3 Feel free to join our discord server :) /tKwrqkn