Peter went home to his crappy apartment. Aunt May had died six months ago when there was a mass shooting at her place of employment, and he was left on his own. He had been able to have himself declared an emancipated minor, especially since he had a regular job. Occasionally, though, he almost wished that he'd gone into the system. Things were difficult, to say the least. He always managed to make his rent, food, not so much. He was happy that he qualified for the free lunch programs at school. He even qualified for the free breakfast program, but he never made it on time. Maxine, one of the cooks, took pity on him and always held a meal back for him. She would even sneak in a healthy snack or two.
"Thanks, Maxine," he said after lunch was done one day and he was still hungry. "I appreciate you."
"You are too young to be on your own, if you ask me," she clucked. "But you're keeping up on your grades and homework, so you must be doing something right."
Peter had so much on his plate it was ridiculous, including haranguing Mr. Morita about the safety of the gymnasium. "Sir, there's a weakness in the main supporting beam that I don't like the looks of," Peter said for the tenth time that semester. "There's a crack that I don't like. It looks dangerous."
Morita brushed it off because it had been inspected and found to be safe. Peter was afraid that his battle with The Lizard had weakened it years ago and the crack was naturally progressing.
Peter shook his head in disgust and headed for his locker. The hallway was deserted except for Flash, who was laying a booby trap in one of the lockers. Peter stifled a snort when he realized that it was one of his cronies, Alex's locker. What had the Neanderthal done to incur his wrath?
"Hey, what's eating you?" Flash asked, looking up as he laid down trip wire "You look like you could spit nails."
Peter drew back. This new dynamic, Flash being nice to him, had him a bit weirded out. He couldn't wrap his head around it. "Principal Morita is a moron," Peter said frankly. "The main beam in the gym has structural integrity issues and he won't do anything about looking into it. I noticed it and he assumes I'm lying because I'm a kid."
"Fugeddaboudit," Flash said, snarking about the principal. "Bureaucrats, politicians and school officials. All the same to me, all completely stupid."
"I guess," Peter said slowly. "Why are you booby trapping Alex's locker? I thought he was your friend."
Flash had a look of pain in his eyes. "I'm sick of the bullying. I don't want to be a bully. Just because…" He broke off as if he almost said too much. "I'm sorry for being such a creep."
"I'm having trouble getting used to you being nice to me," Peter admitted. "I can take anything but pity. I don't want your pity."
"I don't pity you; I respect you," Flash admitted, finishing his job. "You've lost several people, but you haven't gotten bitter. You're strong."
"Not really," Peter mumbled under his breath. Flash was engrossed in his locker mayhem and didn't hear him. "Hey, are you done? Someone is coming." Peter laid his hand on his shoulder and Flash looked up, startled away from his mayhem. They took off the other way, walking casually as if Flash hadn't just sticky confetti bombed one of his ex-best friends' lockers.
Peter's next period was spent with his new advisor, which just happened to be Natasha. The teachers all had more than one position to get to know their students better.
"So, Peter, what do you want to do with your life?" she asked as she looked at his file. Her eyebrows raised. "Emancipated minor?"
"My Aunt was killed in a mass shooting about six months ago. The courts decided that I was old enough to take care of myself. I've got a steady job taking photos of Spider-Man for The Daily Bugle. It pays the rent."
Natasha noted that he didn't say anything about food. "And your life after high school?"
Peter sighed tiredly. "Honestly? I don't know. I used to know. But after Gwen's death, I just…slumped, I guess."
They talked options, and Natasha started formulating the opinion that Peter was clinically depressed. Why wouldn't he be? Three violent deaths in three years, especially after his uncle bleeding out in his arms, was traumatic.
Later that night, Spider-Man went to the gymnasium roof and sat on the asphalt surface, communing with the darkness and feeling for any vibrations literally by the seat of his pants. However, he felt nothing undue. True, he felt the vibrations from the air conditioner and plumbing. He could even feel vibrations from the electrical systems, but nothing architectural. He lay back for a moment and stared at the night sky which was beginning to fill with clouds; the next minute rough hands were shaking him awake. He opened his eyes and beheld Ms. Romanoff standing over him, dressed in a skintight leather uniform, gun drawn, a severe expression on her face.
"Ok, spider-boy. What are you doing up here?"
"I was listening," he said obstinately, jumping to his feet from his prone position. "I didn't mean to fall asleep. And it's Spider-Man, not Spider-Boy. And might I say, that is some outfit you've got on."
"You sound young to me. You're much too young to be coming on to me, that much is for sure." she said, not convinced that he wasn't a spider-boy. She reached for him, but he was too fast for her.
"It's the mask," he reasoned. "It muffles my voice. Keeps people guessing as to my identity, which is always a good thing. Look at the way JJ Jameson is always trying to bring me down."
Natasha had to admit the kid had a valid point. "Falling asleep up here is not the way to protect your identity. You need to go home and get some sleep."
"Yes, ma'am," Peter said sheepishly. Truthfully, he was exhausted, bone tired. "Good night. Nice to meet you." He waved shyly, then darted off, webbing his way towards the worst part of Queens.
Natasha followed him with difficulty due to his unexpected movements. "I'm following the Spider," she reported through an earpiece, "but it's like he knows I'm following. He's very unpredictable."
She finally caught up with him on a grimy street and watched as he crawled through an open window. "Gotcha."
Just then, Spider-Man climbed back out the window and swung away again. "How can he know I'm following him?" She never could get a bead on him and eventually gave up.
The next day at school was career day. Peter made sure he dressed appropriately. He'd had his fun leading Ms. Romanoff on a wild goose chase most of the night. He'd accidentally gotten a couple hours of sleep on the school roof and a couple hours more at home. He went to school feeling completely refreshed for once. He made sure he really was dressed nicely because hey, it was career day, and he was a senior. There was no telling who he needed to impress.
He was thoroughly unimpressed with most of the offerings at the fair and stayed far, far away from Oscorp. He was talking to Flash when he saw an imposing figure with an eyepatch talking to Ms. Romanoff next to the SHIELD table and he groaned.
"Oh, bloody hell," he fumed. "Why did they invite SHIELD to this party?"
"How do you know this is SHIELD?" Flash asked, looking at Peter in askance. Sometimes he was more than a little bit odd.
"See the cue ball with the eyepatch? Meet Colonel Nick Fury. I remember him from when I was a kid. I guess my parents must have worked for him. I really don't want to talk to him, so I'll see you later."
"I'll talk to him," Flash said, and wandered over to Colonel Fury. He determined to leave Peter's name out of any conversation he might have with Fury.
Peter immediately went to the Stark Industrial booth, where an unremarkable employee by the name of Bob Edwards sat behind the table looking bored. He barely looked up when Peter walked up and filed his electronic application. This was the place he really wanted to be, anyway.
Peter had several gadgets of his own design, and he used them regularly. One of them was a facial recognition device attached to his lapel and wired to his glasses. The thing must be off because it didn't recognize his face. He fiddled with his lapel nervously until it focused on the face underneath.
"Hi, Mr. Stark," he said quietly as he bent down to take a card. "It's nice to meet you."
Tony's hand grabbed his as he took the card. "You must be mistaken," he said. "My name is Bob Edwards. I work for Mr. Stark."
But Peter wasn't listening. He was distracted by something. He cocked his head curiously, listening intently. He felt it at first; a low-pitched rumbling, then a groan emanating from the ceiling followed by pops that only his spider hearing could pick up. "Oh, hell, no."
Tony looked at him, shook his head and moved on to the next student behind him. He was a strange, strange, kid. Peter fished his phone out of his pocket and started scanning the ceiling. What he found was alarming. The ceiling was critically compromised and collapsed was imminent. He looked for the fire alarm and realized it was behind Bob Edwards.
"Excuse me," he said as he vaulted over his head and yanked the locked cover off. What idiot locked a fire alarm, he thought to himself as he pulled the alarm.
"What are you doing?" Tony ducked and hissed as the alarm sounded. Peter ignored him momentarily and looked around at the students milling around in confusion.
The ceiling gave an audible rumble and crack this time and Tony looked up, alarmed now. Natasha was striding over to give Peter a tongue lashing but stopped and began directing students towards the exits.
"We have maybe five minutes to get everyone out," Peter explained to Tony breathlessly. He began directing traffic as well, urging everyone to move faster.
The clock ran out. With about twenty people left, Peter heard the groan, screech and roar of the supporting truss collapsing. He ran forward, got underneath the metal beam, and caught it as it collapsed. He had purposely positioned himself so that the truss was perfectly balanced in his hands. Once he thought everyone was out, he gave a final shoutout. "Call out! Is everyone out? Call out, please!"
He got a reply in return, and he ground his teeth. Not her. Please, not her. "I think everyone is out," a voice replied. "But I'm trapped. I can't find a way out."
He knew it was Ms. Romanoff and he couldn't just leave her to be crushed. He really liked her, in spite of himself.
"Can you get her out?" He turned to observe Iron Man coming up beside him and taking over his position with the beam.
"Yes sir," he said earnestly. He turned and wormed his way deeper into the ruins of the gymnasium, sliding this way and that, as if he was threading a needle. He fit his body around pylons and broken two by fours. Soon he reached up and grabbed her hand.
"Gotcha!" He slid up to her and pulled her towards the outside wall.
"Peter, just what do you think you're going to do, anyway?" Natasha asked in amusement. Peter lifted a foot and kicked a hole through the wall in response, he turned and gave her a grin that reminded her of Rocket Raccoon.
"That. I'm getting you out of here," he said as he used his hands to widen the opening. Bricks crumbled in his hands and the hole widened enough for a body to slip through. He then pushed a protesting Black Widow through the enlarged hole. "Ok, Mr. can put the beam down. We're both out," Peter yelled as he slithered through the small opening. Natasha grabbed him and started making sure he was uninjured and brushing construction debris and dust off his clothes.
"You've been holding out on me, little spider," she said accusingly. She stopped her ministrations when she got to Peter's right arm. He had a gash from his bicep to his wrist that was bleeding freely. Nick ran up from the staging area with a first aid kit. He looked at Peter oddly.
"Before you even ask, sir, no. I don't want to join your little club," Peter snarked. He winced as Natasha tended to his arm.
"I'm sorry that hurts," she apologized, spraying antiseptic on it. No sense in risking infection in the limb.
"No offense, ma'am, but I've suffered much, much worse than this," Peter said truthfully. "I've been shot, stabbed, electrocuted and kicked through a wall by a giant lizard."
"So, he told you no, didn't he," Tony gloated admiringly as he looked at the kid. He wasn't much to look at, but he was super strong, maybe stronger than Cap.
"Yes, Uncle Nick, I said NO. You've already gotten enough Parker blood on your hands as it is. You don't need mine, too," Peter said savagely. "If I get hurt, this is on ME, nobody else."
" .God." Nick gasped. "Peter B Parker. Where is your Aunt May? Isn't she supposed to be watching over you?"
"May died. I'm on my own," Peter said bitterly when he looked at Nick. "She died in the mass shooting at FEAST six months ago."
"That seals it. You are going to come with me," Natasha said. "You have no business being on your own. I want to train you."