Peter messed up, big time.

He would call it his usual Parker luck, but this time it was worse. To be precise, it was worse than ever before, Peter would even say it was worse than the death of his parents.

(Not as bad as his Uncle Ben's death, of course).

He could have been more careful, but no, he was too reckless with his boredom when he was at the professor's house, who happened to be on Tombstone's personal blacklist!

Had he been too cheerful when he'd run out of Mayfair?

Were his clothes too dirty to stand out?

Or was it aristocrats, friends of his patron, who had betrayed him?

"I'm never leaving London, am I?" asked Peter, annoyed, when he was woken up by Harry (Harry hated it when his best friend was as dirty as the rest of the mob).

Harry just shrugged, his friend didn't seem to care that he would never leave England. "Look on the bright side, you're always within my reach."

Peter rolled his eyes when he heard that, of course the bloke would say that, he was like Tombstone sometimes, except he didn't have a room in the Osborn house. Not yet. Knowing Harry, he'd think of something to keep him here forever.

Thank you, Tombstone.

"But I don't want to stay in England forever, I want to see the world!", Peter just growled in anger at his best friend's response, arrogant arsehole, he thought silently. Harry didn't have to study in secret to get a bit of an education. "I mean, I'm fourteen! Others are already married and off to America."

He clenched his fist, Parker luck. "Whoever said that about Dr Octavius is a dead ..."

"I did it, Pete" Wait, what?

He jumped out of the bath and immediately grabbed Harry's neck aggressively, he was angry and Harry was calm. Almost as if he hadn't sold his best friend for what!

"Why?!"

Harry looked at him with a slight smile, grabbed Peter's cheeks and stroked him.

Peter just blinked in confusion, why isn't harry doing anything?

Why is Harry so pale?

Those teeth of Harry's... they weren't his.

Only Tombstone had tiger teeth like that.

"Only Peter, because you're mine." That horrible voice belonged to only one person, Tombstone.

Then he saw the faces of Uncle Ben, Mary Jane, Mum, Dad and many others from his past, the faces turning in slow distance.

"No, you don't own me!" Screamed Peter stark naked, he took several steps back, shaking like several servants. No, they were changing.

"Uncle Ben, no, you're dead!" He fell to the ground, his legs too weak to carry him. Tombstone pulled him by the neck to a large mirror.

He only screamed when he saw his reflection in a sailor's uniform, a gift from Tombstone back then, which he never put on voluntarily and was forced to. A red and white suit with a blue cloth.

Then Peter opened his eyes violently, breathing harder than he had for a long time. He clung to the bars of the bed like a madman, his heart beating like crazy. "Shit, shit, shit..." he muttered, then reached for his pillow like a small child and hugged it as if it were a teddy bear.

"It was just a dream," Peter whispered to himself in a hurried tone of voice, you can do it, Peter, he thought. His hands tremble slightly at the thought that his uncle Ben, his father, is alive again when his parents left him behind in this cold world.

Peter only calms himself with the thought that his Uncle Ben wouldn't have wanted him to have such thoughts.

Peter blinked as he felt a cloth on his face. "Aunt May?" he asked quietly as his head slipped to the side, no, just a maid from Tombstone.

"Huh?"

Was he waiting in the Tombstone manor again?

The young woman looked at him with concern, but said nothing. She was really pretty, red hair, but really red. Almost bright red, and oh, the green eyes. He could get lost in these endless emeralds...

Before he could ask again, she got up and left without saying a word, oh, his patron was coming. Well, Peter, he collapsed at training again, didn't he?

He rubbed his eyes as he stared at the giant who always looked so powerful in his suit. Only the jacket sleeve would do, so he could travel far, far, perhaps as far as China.

Peter stretched as he sat up in the childish bed, not looking at Tombstone. "Sleep well, Peter?"

Tombstone stroked Peter's sweaty hair, who immediately withdrew his white hand. He cleared his throat and raised an eyebrow: "Are you ill or have you been training too much?"

The ballet dancer just shrugged his shoulders, he didn't really know the answer. He felt a little tired since his last activations, but Tombstone didn't need to know that.

"Shall I take a bath?" peter asked, trying to force out a smile, it was the only time the master of the house wasn't constantly watching him. "I'll call some servants ..."

Tombstone interrupted Peter with a pat on the back and an answer he didn't like at all.

"I'll do it, today."

Not at all.

The ballet dancer just looked at him with wide eyes, but said nothing. Peter rose from his bed with trembling knees.

But before he could stand properly, he fell into Tombstone's arms. Tombstone just lifted him over his right shoulder like he was a fucking baby.

He didn't fight this time, but he would later.

Yes, that's him.

Today, the relatives would perhaps be pleased that none of them blamed Tombstone. Nobody dies today, maybe because Tombstone washes him today and no servant who doesn't "clean" him properly.

He likes to be embarrassed for that.

"I hate you." Peter whispered quietly as he was undressed. Tombstone hated the young ballet dancer's clothes, but the patron understood why Peter didn't accept his clothes.

(And not just because it makes Peter look like a little kid).

No one should rob the "rich" boy in the ghetto just because he has new clothes.

"Right now you do." He climbed into the tub with weak legs, the warm water immediately enveloped his legs, it was good to have a warm bath when you were sweaty. Before Peter closed his eyes, he saw hair under his armpit.

Damn.

"I'm kidding," Peter Tombstone tries to deflect from the ablution. "I know you are, Peter." Tombestone took off his jacket and rolled up his sleeves.

Bloody Parker luck.