Chapter Text
“Parker, I don’t care if the great lord himself is the reason you’re behind on your rent. What I’ve gotten from you are nine months of promises and excuses when I need nine months of cash. Property in New York is expensive and I need your rent money to pay mine! You’ve got three days to move your stuff.” The mousy brunette ran up the stairs of the grimy apartment building after his equally grimy landlord.
“Please, you can’t do this. I’ll get you the money as soon as I can, but without this I have nowhere to stay!” Big brown puppy dog eyes pleaded up at the scowling old woman. Her tan skin was wrinkled from years of smoking and the tired folds between her drawn brows showed no sympathy.
“You’re out, Parker. Frankly, you’re lucky I’m not suing your ass.” The heavy set woman turned on a swollen ankle and continued up the filthy stairs, ignoring a whimper of protest from the supposedly adult man behind her. The yellowish glow in the hallway flickered as the old lighting system buzzed in familiar protest. It only went to further remind Peter that he was begging to keep his six by eight foot apartment in this hellhole and failing.
Peter was heavy-footed as he dragged himself up the rest of the stairs. He could feel the three day deadline like a noose tightening around his neck as he tried to come up with a plan. Unfortunately, Peter had exhausted most of the job opportunities within walking distance and he had sold his bike two weeks ago to a homeless guy so that he could afford something to eat. No one decent would hire someone who disappeared for hours on end with no explanation and Peter had already been fired by just about every minimum-wage employer in New York. Being Spider-man was quite possibly the most frustrating thing the brunette could think of as he wrestled with the jerry-rigged lock on his apartment. He was hungry, he was tired, his entire body hurt from fighting another no name asshole in spandex who got his hands on a photon blaster, and tomorrow he was about to start the whole process all over again.
Before the first light could find its way into Peter’s window, the alarm on his watch was beeping angrily, startling him awake. When the adrenaline and terror finally started to ease from his system, he groaned miserably. Dawn of the first day… Somehow he had to scrape it together and beg his way into another apartment without a credit score or recommendation. He had briefly considered staying with the Fantastic Four, but being homeless seemed more upstanding than freeloading on some of the hardest working people he knew. He could see the headlines now: SPIDER-MAN FOUND SLEEPING IN A DUMPSTER. Jameson would do just about anything to get a picture that degrading.
The rusted handle turned with a creak as Peter prepared for his morning “shower.” He’d been doing his best keeping clean, but a sink does not a shower make, no matter how hard you try. He scrubbed his face and underarms with soap and water and crouched in a way that required super-spider flexibility to wash his hair. This may quite possibly be the lowest he’s ever been, but that means the only direction he could travel was up, right? With the old Parker luck kicked into overdrive, Peter tugged on his tired old converse and headed down to the Daily Bugle to see if they needed any photography done.
“Hey Marian,” Peter smiled sheepishly at the attractive red-head. She smiled back politely before leaning forward, her breasts gently setting on the table (not that Peter noticed or anything) as she gave him a status report.
“If I were you, I’d get in there before his wife calls up again. Mrs. Jameson’s been pretty insistent about him taking this Friday off,” She conferred conspiratorially. He nodded gravely and after tugging his collared shirt as straight as he could, he knocked.
“Go away,” Jonah hollered disinterestedly. Thrown for a bit of a loop, Peter stared at the door awkwardly for a moment before knocking again.
“Damnit,” the old man yelled through the door. “What the hell do you want?” It was the closest Peter was ever going to get to an invitation from the man so he let himself in.
“Mr. Jameson,” Peter started.
“Oh, Peter. It’s you… What the hell do you want?” he asked again.
“I’ve been really short on money lately and I’m about to lose my apartment. You don’t have any work I could be doing or…?”
“Of course I do, Parker,” Jonah said almost amicably despite not looking up from the paper under his nose. “You’re a freelancer. You want to make some money? Get me some shots I can work with!” His temper flared wildly as he looked into the cold blue eyes of his “employer.”
“But sir,” he started through clenched teeth, “I’ve brought you pictures of the last five guys Spider-man dragged in. You wouldn’t take any of them!” It had been difficult to get action shots of the wannabe supervillains and even more difficult to scrape together the cash for the film.
“Of course not! How am I supposed to sell pictures of these no names when the other papers have pictures of Spider-man?! Get me a good shot of him beating in one of those poor sap’s faces and then we’ll talk.” Jonah straightened his reading glasses on the end of his nose before unceremoniously shooing Peter from the room with a wave.
So all Peter had to do was get pictures of himself beating the daylights out of some criminal. Tempting, except for the whole power and responsibility deal… Oh, God was he screwed.
Considering the fact that the previous day had been, generously put, another failure in a long line of employment opportunities for Peter Parker, he decided that today he would take the day to himself. Or that’s what he’d like to have said, but he was getting really short on time and options. That morning, instead of dressing in his civilian clothing, he pulled on his costume and slipped out the window and into the New York skyline.
Scraping together enough money to fund his basic needs here in the big apple was a constant struggle for the poor superhero. Maybe in the suburbs or the country he could make enough to pay his rent, somewhere the milk didn’t cost at least a dollar more than the national average and it was assumed that an apartment would come with facilities, but honestly, he never spent a moment thinking about living anywhere else.
Sure, the city was dirty… filthy really and ripe with crime and poverty, but there was a damn good reason people flocked here. Some people came to New York for the excitement, some for the convenience of not having to drive into the city for work, but for Peter, there wasn’t anywhere else. New York was his home. He spent the first fourteen years of his life amazed by the endless sights of the city, and that was before he ever left the ground.
With a satisfying spit, the first line of webbing shot from his wrist and he swung away from his crummy apartment and the rest of his problems. It was after noon before he even considered stopping and standing on the ground. He climbed down the side of an old brick apartment building, his head facing the ground as he moved at an inhuman speed. Before he was ten feet above the ground, he kicked off from the wall, flipping himself over and landing in front of a relatively unimpressed hotdog man.
“Taah Dahh!” He bragged playfully and the older gentleman merely rolled his eyes.
“Spider-man,” he acknowledged with an untamed grey eyebrow raised. A young woman and her son who had been walking in their direction suddenly turned as the mother dragged her fascinated son away as quickly as she could. The old man grinned slightly at the woman dragging her young son. “I’m starting to think you’re bad for business…” Spider-man gasped in mock surprise.
“With all the hotdogs I buy from you? I’m sure I’ve more than made up for all the business you’ve lost.” He eyed a perfectly heated bun and tried to not to drool at the doughy scent. The man just grumbled slightly to himself in response as he grabbed his tongs and started sorting through the freshly cooked dogs. His knobby hands only shook slightly as he pulled the best looking dog from the heater and eased it into a freshly toasted bun. Without even asking he added two perfect wavy lines of mustard and one of ketchup and handed it to the masked vigilante. By the time Peter eased his mask half-way up his face, he was grinning with anticipation. He took a big bite before shifting the meal into his other hand and digging into a small pocket in his suit for payment. Before he could nimbly gather the correct change with his gloved fingers however, two shots rang out in the distance, followed by the wail of police cars.
“This one’s on me,” the old man said, turning toward where Spider-man had been standing. The young man was nowhere to be found but on the edge of his cart sat a small pile of change. Damn, that kid, the man thought with a smile. Go get ‘em, Spidey.
Webslinging with one hand was significantly more difficult than webslinging with two, but add a hotdog into the mix and things start to get brutal. Luckily for Peter, the shots sounded like they were coming from not too far away. About six blocks and a painful two bites later, Peter was jumping down from a fire escape and into the fray.
Almost completely prepared for action, Peter landed in front of two armed men who appeared to be fleeing the scene of a crime. The taller of the two men was lanky and pale, and he had a tattoo on his shoulder and gauged ears. The shorter man looked stronger, and from the look in his eyes, significantly less stable. The noise from the balls of Peter’s feet hitting the ground in front of him startled the short man and he raised the gun threateningly prepared for a fight.
“Woah, hey there guys,” Peter raised his hands slightly to show he meant no harm… for the moment. “Is it just me, or does every bad guy in New York these days have a gun?” He walked toward the men slowly and the smaller man shook the gun threateningly in response. “Here, lemmie get those for you,” he responded, using both hands to attach webbing to the weapons before ripping them out of the men’s hands.
The taller man looked to the smaller man as if to ask, what now? Rather than attempting to flee the scene, a glint of metal slipped out of his coat pocket as he lunged for Spider-man. The tip barely grazed the bright red fabric before Peter twisted out of the way like a cat righting itself midair. With an open fist, he jarred the weapon from the man’s chubby fingers and deflected an awkward punch from his accomplice. Dealing with the more significant threat first, Spider-man gripped a stalky wrist tightly and threw the man against the wall, six feet in the air, and attached him with a heavy coating of webbing. He was about to do the same with the taller man as police cars blocked off one side of the alley. Oh, crap. The doors were opened with military precision, weapons at the ready as Spider-man attached a long line of web up to the top of the taller of the two buildings cradling the narrow alley.
“FREEZE!” Six pistols and a shotgun focused on the young vigilante as the now forgotten criminal did his best to sneak out of their line of sight.
“Is it just me or does everyone in New York have a gun these days?” He said with an exasperated sigh, hoping to distract the less focused of the officers as he pull the line taut. “Did I miss some kind of memo?” With a final tug he released the flexible line, throwing himself in the air. He landed on the top of the building at a run, scanning for his next move.
He could hear the officers shouting orders down on the ground as he jumped from the fire escape onto the next building. Generally, his best option was up, considering his increased mobility and the police’s lack thereof, but he had run into the criminals in a more residential area. The apartment buildings were a handful of stories at best, so he’d have to find somewhere to hide and fast. He stuck another web to the corner of the tallest building nearby, taking this chance to glace back before ducking over the edge. Rather than staying up high where the police would be looking for him, he slipped down the side of the building where he was no longer visible and into the street. Some of the officers had managed to get back into their cars and he could hear the sirens approaching quickly. Acting mostly on instinct, he grabbed the lid of a nearby dumpster and slipped inside, closing himself inside just as a police car drove past.
As the sirens died down and his body started to relax, he finally had the chance to fully take in his surroundings. First of all, he was in fact in a dumpster. The rubber heel of his boot slipped against what might have once been Chao Mein. He breathed in deeply, and instantly regretted it. Oh, dear lord. With a gag he threw open the lid and jumped out. The brown slime from inside the dumpster discolored the fabric over one of his hands and his knees. He couldn’t help but picture himself behind bars, Jameson smirking at him from the other side, and wonder whether or not his escape had really been worth it.
Half of the problems in his life could be tied back to that smug toothbrush-headed psychopath. Despite the time and effort he put into his photography, Jameson paid him pennies on the dollar, devoting the saving to his personal vendetta against Spider-man. And due to Jameson’s damn-near slanderous articles, Spider-man had become public enemy number one. It didn’t matter how many times he saved New York from Norman’s latest manic episode, or sat in with the Fantastic Four in saving the multiverse, so long as he wore a mask, Jameson was going to do everything in his power to take Spider-man down. He wasn’t even welcome at Avenger’s PR events anymore (not that he had the free time to be shaking hands and kissing babies). It was tough to imagine Hawkeye or even Ant-man going dumpster diving just to avoid getting cuffed… again. God forbid this kind of stuff ever happen to the big names…
He grumbled to himself as he started webbing his way back home. It was already six and the rush hour traffic was starting to clear. Maybe things weren’t all that bad. He still had another day to find an apartment, and considering his luck these last couple days, karma was really starting to owe him a big one. He thought about the For Rent sign he had seen chasing after the armed men and considered stopping in on his way back. Things are never quite as bad as we imagine them to be, right?
The faint beeping of his Avenger’s receiver caught his ear. He climbed up onto a nearby balcony and pulled up his sleeve to check the watch-like apparatus. Pressing a small button on the side, he opened the line and responded to the call.
“Please tell me you’re calling because you finally decided to start handing out superhero paychecks…” The voice on the other line merely coughed awkwardly. It was Wasp.
“No such luck, Spidey.” Peter sighed.
“Alright, what’s the job?”
“We’re a little short on back-up right now. Cap’s helping Hawkeye and Widow with S.H.I.E.L.D. stuff and Ant-man’s still on a research trip to Peru. I sent Iron Man to scope out a strange energy signal we picked up in Brooklyn and I haven’t heard from him in a couple hours.”
“I’m checking up on Iron Man? Doesn’t he hate that?”
“You’ve always been a charmer, Spidey. I’m sure you can get him to let it slide.” Then why do I feel like cannon fodder?
“Alright, but if I get blasted by so much as one energy beam, you’ll be hearing from my lawyers.”
“You better get Matt-freakin’-Murdock… Tony’s already got the top lawyers in New York on the payroll.” Spider-man sighed before disconnecting his receiver.
“How is this my life?” Peter started the long run down to Brooklyn while grumbling to himself. It’s certainly not for the paycheck… Rent would have to be tomorrow’s problem. For now, he had to find Iron Man.
It wasn’t uncommon for Iron Man to remove himself from the Avenger’s grid, but it was uncommon for large warehouses in the middle of Brooklyn to be billowing smoke. Spider-man landed on the roof and crawled into an upstairs window. He clung to the ceiling unnoticed while he tried to figure out what was going on. At the moment, five Hydra agents were firing a barrage of lasers at what appeared to be a rather distressed Iron Man while one attempted to flee with a large hunk of tech. Using their surprise to his full advantage, Spider-man pulled the machinery from the goon’s hands with a long line of webbing. He webbed it to the ceiling before climbing down one of the walls and joining in the fight.
“Why are you here?” Tony probed the young hero before raising a force field with his left hand and hitting a goon with an energy beam from the other. Meanwhile, Spider-man stepped backwards until he was back to back with Iron Man.
“Just your friendly neighborhood reminder that you turned your cell phone off,” Spider-man responded, sounding about as excited to be there as he felt. His proportionate strength of a spider sent an unfortunate agent flying backward, hitting the ground moments later with an undignified whimper.
“Cell phone… That’s cute. You can tell Wasp that I’m a little busy at the moment.” Three more agents came running into the warehouse in response to their teammate’s distress call. Iron Man stalled them by collapsing part of the ceiling in front of them.
“I would, but thanks to you, I’m a little busy at the moment.” With a fluid motion, a web flew from each of his wrists, finding their mark on two approaching Hydra agent’s helmets. A powerful tug sent them colliding face-first in the air before landing in a painful heap. The final three agents stood at a distance, hoping to find an advantage in long-range combat. Their prayers would go unanswered as Iron Man fired an electric pulse at the remaining combatants, leaving them twitching on the ground as he casually pressed a couple buttons on his gauntlet. Spider-man rolled his eyes under his mask, despite his extreme pleasure at the scientific complexity of such a device.
“Show off,” he quipped before turning to face the older hero. “Hydra in Brooklyn? Really?”
“They were after the… Where did the generator go?” Tony scanned the room.
“I may have webbed it to the ceiling…” Spider-man jumped up onto the walls to retrieve the device.
“Of course you did,” Peter could practically hear Tony’s blood pressure rise a little. “The latest in Stark technology, a prototype Hydra went to great lengths to steal and you’ve covered its delicate machinery in high tensile strength goo.” Spider-man hopped down from the ceiling, device in hand.
“Hardly. I attached it using the fan covering and the heatsink. Besides, my high tensile strength goo dissolves in three hours or so. It might take a while, but try to unknot your metal panties.” Spider-man tossed the device into Tony’s waiting hands. He received it with a cautious gentleness. After confirming the state of the generator, Tony looked suspiciously at the young hero.
“This is nothing like any of the generators on the market. Tell me, what is this?” he asked, pointing a metal finger at a small component.
“It’s the latest Stark ion source. Due to its exponentially increased capacity from the traditional model you needed the fan and the heatsink in the first place,” he replied casually, digging out his Avengers communicator. “Hey Wasp? I—“ Metal fingers curled around the device, effectively shutting it off. “Hey!” Peter replied with a childlike petulance. Tony’s helmet opened, revealing an intrigued if not slightly manic expression.
“How do you know about that? I haven’t revealed the new ion source to anyone, except…”
“Reed Richards? Yeah. We were in a bit of a situation so we used a similar model to power an inter-dimensional wormhole. Now can you turn that back on so Wasp doesn’t send someone after me too?” Peter reached out for the device expecting Tony to resist, but the device was offered freely.
“Interesting… I hadn’t even considered that sort of application…” Peter merely nodded as he powered his transponder.
“Hey Wasp, it’s me. Everything’s fine.”
“Thank God. I wasn’t sure who I was going to send if you were both missing…” Tony surveyed the young male as he place his free hand on his hip.
“Seeing as you’d already scraped the bottom of the proverbial barrel…” The tone was relatively light, but the twinge of real hurt was obvious.
“No, that’s not what I—“
“It’s okay Wasp. I get it. I’m not sure if I want anything to do with me, considering the kind of press I get. I’ll send Iron Man back your way.” Wasp’s voice caught for a moment as she started to say something and then stopped.
“Thanks Spidey.”
“No problem.” Spider-man ended the call. Doing his best to ignore Iron Man’s stare, he slipped out a web cartridge, checking its contents. Not good. The other cartridge bore similar results. He could probably make it a couple blocks before he ran out, and he didn’t think he could get away with hoofing it. He’d get a block, maybe two before the police were informed about his whereabouts. Any other day he’d have a spare change of clothes, but he hadn’t intended to go on patrol, especially this far from his apartment.
“Can I help you?” he asked, temper flaring. The iron man shifted slightly, before taking a step back.
“Relax, bug boy. I was just curious about the gear. I always kinda figured you made those things… au natural, if you get my drift.”
“The gear’s a little low on ‘au natural’ at the moment,” Peter huffed.
“No need to get upset. I just figured Reed’s kid might have something spiffy,” Tony headed back to work, gathering the unconscious agents before contacting S.H.I.E.L.D.
“You’re right. Sorry. Things have been a little rough lately and I think I spent my ride home getting here.” Peter took the moment to sit on one of the larger hunks of concrete from the ceiling. He hadn’t had the time to relax since he left his apartment that morning and he was running on little more than the hotdog he’d managed to choke down.
“I can give you a ride home. Fury’s going to want a debriefing, and I’m going to want to seem too busy to give it to him.” Spider-man chuckled at the confession. The sound was muffle slightly by his cloth mask, but it was a sweet sound. Iron Man couldn’t help but smile, secretly grateful that the boy couldn’t see it.
“The Avengers consorting with vigilantes?” he probed, the hurt from earlier all but gone from his voice.
“I’ve consorted with worse…” Tony teased, his voice dripping with sexual deviancy. Spider-man laughed uncomfortably.
“I’m sure you have. You don’t happen to have an Iron Man-mobile, or some high tech vehicle with a catchier name, do you?” Tony’s helmet merely tilted downward as he studied his suit.
“I am an Iron Man-mobile.” Riiight.
Peter was seriously wondering whether or not he chose correctly in accepting a ride from the older hero. Sure, he wasn’t exactly looking forward to another tangle with the New York police department, but this… this was undignified.
Long, thin legs dangled over a metal arm as Peter tried to shift himself into a more respectable position. His arm was wrapped around a cool metal shoulder as Iron Man carried him in the safest way possible. He wiggled in the tight grip cradled between Iron Man’s arms. I hate you so much right now…
“I can’t help but notice that you smell like the inside of a dumpster…”
“Wow… that really means something coming from a guy with no nose. Sorry, I’m no longer allowed in the Laundromat.”
“I tried the nose thing. Didn’t work out. But a Laundromat? Shouldn’t you be living with your mom or something?” Spider-man bit back a groan.
“I’m a little too old for that,” even if it’s hard to tell from my girlish figure… “I’d make a crack at your lifestyle, but it’s a little difficult considering your suit costs more money than I’ll spend in a lifetime while mine is hand-sewn and quite frankly smells like the inside of dumpster. Specifically the one in the alley behind Fourth Street.” Iron Man didn’t reply to that. Instead they rode for a while in silence as he thought.
“You’re not homeless, are you?” Tony felt a little embarrassed by the question, but considering the way the boy smelled and the fact that he was currently flying him toward the aforementioned dumpster, it seemed like a reasonable conclusion.
“Today? No. Ask me again tomorrow,” Peter crossed his arms, discomfort showing despite his masked features. “Speaking of which, just drop me off somewhere around here. I should have plenty to get home.” Hundreds of people lived around here, and Peter refused to give up the final scraps of the ‘secret’ in secret identity. Iron Man said nothing, hovering slowly onto the roof of a small grocery store. He watched as the small, muscular frame gracefully climbed out of his grip. He was about to take off again before something stopped him. This young man could hold his own against Reed Richards and he was going to be living on the streets.
“Hey,” he caught the young man’s attention, waiting for him to turn to him before continuing. “I could use minds like yours. I can guarantee a significant pay increase… come work for me.” Peter could feel the gears in his brain stop turning while he replayed the conversation in his head. Work for Stark? Work with Stark tech?
Tony, mistaking Peter’s silence for reluctance, attempted to sweeten the deal. “I’ve got a place where you can stay in the tower until you get back on your feet. At least consider my offer. Tomorrow, 10am. You can even wear the mask.” Peter could do nothing but stare in shocked silence as Tony headed off to deal with an irate Nick Fury. (Sorry, that was a little redundant, wasn’t it?)
He just got an offer to work with one of the biggest names in the scientific industry, not as Peter Parker, but as Spider-man. He could voluntarily move out of his hellhole of an apartment, instead of being kicked out.
At precisely 10am the following morning, Spider-man stood in front of Stark Industries with everything he owned in a heavy duffel bag under his arm.