13Peter stared at the pink piece of paper gripped in his now shaking hands, blue eyes blown wide as his heart hammered away in his chest. Swallowing a thick ball of emotion, the teen drew in a calming breath, but found it of little use. Not when compared to the massive bombshell that just landed in his lap. Flopping numbly into a chair at the dining room table, Peter fought the tears that so wanted to push their way forward and instead put his keen intellect to work. He would find a way to solve this.
It had all started when Peter was digging through the junk drawer of the kitchen, seeking for a particular tool that would help him in giving his old web shooters an upgrade. Granted, most of the tools in the house now resided in Peter's room due to his many experiments, but there was one in particular that had gotten lost ever since Aunt May had borrowed it that Peter dearly missed. And so, in a desperate search that spanned the entire second floor, the young spider eventually found himself wandering into the kitchen.
The kitchen wasn't a place Peter really went outside of eating dinner, doing his chores and kissing Aunt May goodbye. This was her territory, and the team's depending on if any of them felt like cooking. However, Peter wasn't really gifted in the culinary arts and, as stated previously, rarely needed to go diving into the junk drawer due to his commandeering the house's tools. But said drawer was the last place to look, and Peter was desperate.
Rifling through it many varied contents, the young spider shone a small flashlight into its depths, his eyes scanning for any sign of his tool. What he found instead was suspiciously pink letters, the kinds that spell doom and destruction for home and car owners alike. Pulling out a large sheaf of the colored paper, Peter read the contents only to feel his heart drop into its stomach, and then the two of them take an express elevator down to the bowels of the earth. It was an eviction notice for the house pending an overdue mortgage payment of over $5,000, plus a notice of repossession for the car should May not somehow cough up $1,500 within the next four weeks. Behind these were other bills threatening to turn off various utilities around the house, each demanding a sum of money that Peter knew they just didn't have.
A wave of nauseating fatigue washed over the young hero while his heart froze over like it had just taken a swan dive into the ice-cold waters of the Hudson River. What were they going to do? They couldn't lose the house, not this house, the home they had shared with Uncle Ben. The idea was too horrible to contemplate. But whether he wanted to or not, it was their future, and it was fast approaching. His heart gave a painful squeeze as Peter wondered why May hadn't told him about their financial troubles. Granted, the team had just moved back into the Heli-carrier and for the first time in months they had the house to themselves. Peter understood keeping it under wraps while entertaining guests, but why hadn't she told them in the weeks following after they left? The brunet gave his head a firm shake. Getting depressed or angry over May keeping this a secret wouldn't solve the problem. He needed to step up to the plate as man of the house and take responsibility in saving it, just as he took responsibility in protecting New York from super villains.
Putting the letters side by side, Peter looked over the sums and dates written in bold ink. Judging by what he read, Peter calculated he had about six weeks before they hit the last possible date of pay and were officially evicted from their home. The car had a little longer grace period to come up with some cash, but if he could somehow find a job and work his tail off, he might be able to earn enough to convince their bank not to take the house and negotiate a payment plan on the car. But where would he find a job like that?
Placing his forehead down on the wood of the table, Peter closed his eyes and considered every option he had that could earn serious cash. He obviously couldn't ask Harry for a loan, despite knowing the guy could afford it and Norman might even agree. This was a problem that Peter refused to burden others with. So, what jobs were there that paid well? Any manual labor job was likely to give a high hourly wage. Especially trade jobs. Electricians easily made over six figures a month, and that was saying something. However, Peter lacked the credentials for such a position, even though he could do the work in his sleep.
Suddenly an idea sparked in his brain. A job that paid well, but required little to no education? Simple. He could work the docks. At sixteen he was old enough to be hired legally, and he could prove himself to the dock managers that he could pull his weight. Whispering a prayer of gratitude for his spider strength, Peter bolted to his feet, shoving the bills into his backpack, and ran out the door. Even as he made his way towards the docks, Peter understood the choice he was making, and his stomach cramped in anxiety. However, the young spider didn't have a choice. He needed to find a way to balance work, S.H.I.E.L.D. and school. It was possible, and if he lost precious hours of sleep in order to accomplish his goal, then it was worth the sacrifice. He refused to lose Uncle Ben a second time.
It didn't take long for the young spider to reach the shipyards of New York city, and with the confidence that only desperation can bring, marched up to the foreman's office and rapped on the door. A muscular man only slightly taller than the young spider opened the door, a thick disheveled mustache exploding from his upper lip in dark frizz, while an equally untamable mane of hair contained only by a yellow hardhat opened the door. The two assessed each other, one with a determined look of hope, the other slightly unimpressed and more than a little impatient.
"What you want kid?" he growled, fatigue lacing his words as he leaned against the doorpost, "Here to sell something? Or are you doing a fundraiser for school?"
"I want a job!" Peter blurted, wincing at how desperate he sounded, but refusing to back down after he'd come so far, "I'm a hard worker, and stronger than I look! I promise, you won't regret hiring me and I can start right away!"
Dark brown eyes blinked incredulously at the words that had tumbled from Peter's mouth, shock evident on the middle-aged man's face, "You want to work here?" he asked
"Yes!"
The man shook his head slowly, looking at Peter as if the kid were some scientific marvel, which he was, considering most young people these days wouldn't know a hard day's labor if it kicked them in the face, "Why?"
Peter hesitated, biting his bottom lips even as he fidgeted where he stood. Should he use some excuse? Like there was some new gadget he was desperately saving up for. No. Peter could already sense from the man that that would only lessen his chances of being hired. This guy obviously valued hard work and strong ethics. The best thing to do was to go with the truth and hope that it was enough. Ducking his head, Peter gave a heavy swallow of discomfort before answering the man's query in a hoarse rasp.
"Look, it's just me and my aunt. She and my uncle adopted me after my parents died, but then my uncle was killed by…someone who should have never been allowed on the streets," The young spider choked up, but quickly cleared his throat and pinned the foreman with a fiery gaze filled with determination, "I'm the man of the house now," he stated, conviction dripping from every syllable, "and now we might lose that house because we can't keep up with the bills. I can't lose the last thing that my uncle gave us to try and provide for his family. I'm willing to work, and like I said, I'm stronger than I look. I'll take any shift you give me if it means I can keep my aunt from losing the home we shared with Uncle Ben. So, I'm asking you to please give me a job."
The man was silent, his dark eyes watching Peter, weighing the worth of his words. Peter maintained eye contact, refusing to show any weakness and ultimately lose the chance to save his home. Finally, with a sigh, the man relented, "How much weight can you carry?" he asked, "The lightest loads we lift are around 50 pounds."
"50 pounds are no problem for me," Peter stated, lifting his chin with pride, "I can even manage 150 pounds without a problem."
"Easy there, kid," the foreman chuckled, "I get you want the job, but no need to go telling tales."
Peter ground his teeth in frustration, but then reminded himself that he was expecting this. He just needed to prove himself to the foreman, "Try me," Peter barked, "test my strength and see how far I can go."
Now this was a dangerous game for the young spider, simply because he needed to decide what his stopping point was. As it stood, Spider-Man was reasonably sure he could handle up to 1,000 pounds before truly straining himself. He could do more if the situation was dire enough, but that wasn't something he could display here; he needed to figure out the right amount of strength that would get him hired for extra shifts without making him stand out. 150 pounds would probably be good, or even 200, but he couldn't exhibit too much of his strength. He may be desperate for cash, but the last thing he needed was to arouse too much suspicion.
The foreman cast around for a suitable test subject, his hand waving slightly before abruptly pointing at a large box that easily weighed at least 80 pounds, "Try that one," he suggested, features not truly convinced that Peter would succeed, "that's a midsized box that we regularly unload off shipping crates and into the trucks. If you can carry that, you got the job."
A grin lit the young man's face, and after dropping his bookbag, Peter approached the large crate. Bending down so to grasp the bottom firmly, Peter easily stood back up with barely a grunt and then carried it over to the foreman and placing it down at his feet, straightening up and smiling as he watched the foreman notice that his potential employee wasn't even sweating, much less breathing hard. Peter couldn't help but laugh.
"So," the young spider asked brightly, "When do I start?"
…Three Weeks Later….
Something was off with the web-head, the team could tell. For one thing we was quieter, less quippy and not as obnoxious. For another, he was barely around. True he made it to training and was at school, but it seemed as soon as either obligation was over, the spider would mysteriously disappear in the space of a few seconds. Often leaving those who had been talking to him feeling mystified as to where he could have gone and how they didn't notice him leaving. Either way, when Spidey wasn't training or in school, he was missing and infuriatingly unavailable.
Sometimes they would run into him on patrols, but even then, he acted like the villains were inconveniencing him from going somewhere he desperately needed to be. That wasn't even the scariest part though. As the past few weeks had worn on, Spider-Man was getting slower, sloppier. His normally straightforward mission plans that somehow succeeded in the end littered with slurred words, stuttered sentences and a palpable exhaustion that no one could understand the origin of. All in all, the team couldn't divine where Peter went, and why it was important enough to risk his health. The few times they tried to follow him always ended with the young hero disappearing into a crowd, after ditching his tracking device of course. Even Nova was starting to get worried about the spider. Something was wrong. A spider-Man who wrangled up villains in record time and didn't even make a joke was a dangerous anomaly, and everyone wanted their web head back.
But how to do so when they didn't even know what was going on with the guy?
…Five Weeks Later….
Peter rubbed his eyes exhaustedly. It had been a rough five weeks. The work on the docks was everything he'd hoped it would be. He was given the graveyard shift, which suited him fine, and would often work 10pm to 6 or 7am. On top of that, he convinced the foreman to give him overtime and work on Saturdays from 3am to noon. He was being paid weekly on Fridays at $20 an hour, and the first two paychecks went into ensuring the water and electricity stayed on, as well as giving a chunk of cash to convince their car lender not to repossess their only vehicle.
The only thing left was the house, and Peter had just one more week to come up with the money. He'd already planned out his weekend schedule, as well. Today was Friday, which meant he could work from 10pm until 8am, come home for a short nap and then meet his boss back at the docks to work from 2 in the afternoon to 10pm. Granted, he would be technically working an almost 48 hour shift on only four hours of sleep, but Peter refused to give up or give out. He was so close to saving the house from foreclosure.
He had visited the bank the day before in a hope to renegotiate and give them the amount he had earned up to that point as a show of good faith, but the kind gentlemen behind the desk had merely shaken his head in sorrow. First, Peter was too young and thus the bank could not discuss business matter with him concerning the mortgage without breaking company policy. Secondly, the payments on the mortgage were so far past due, the bank could only accept a lump sum that would completely clear the negative balance. Peter was discouraged, but simply nodded and left promising to have the rest of the money by the end of the next week.
If he could make it that long, that is. Peter fully credited his spider strength to the fact he was still standing. Any normal person would have crashed and burned weeks ago. However, Peter juggled his complex schedule of work, school and being a hero with a desperation fueled by the need to protect his one remaining family member. Speaking of Aunt May, Peter hadn't told her anything about his new job, instead focusing on making the money. He was sure she was doing everything on her end to try and make ends meet, but Peter wanted to surprise her by getting their bills completely caught up. He'd manage to keep this whole thing a secret from even his team for so long, he just needed it to last for one more week, then he'd be in the clear.
Peter shook his head as his vision began to tunnel, and the nauseating feeling of fatigue ate away at the corners of his consciousness. He couldn't remember the last time he had gotten a solid night's sleep, and even the naps he indulged in the moments between his various responsibilities did nothing to wane the foggy agony assaulting his overly tired mind. But Peter did not falter, keenly aware that if he allowed himself to do so he would find himself waking up multiple days later from the coma that would inevitably claim him.
And so, barely an hour before he needed to report in for work at the docks, Spider-Man was leaping back and forth dodging explosive projectiles. A new villain who somehow idolized the Green Goblin had created an alter villain ego called the Purple Elf. Peter gave him -5 points for creativity. The two didn't even rhyme for goodness' sake! To be honest, the only good thing the guy had going for him was a sling shot that was actually decently accurate and could shoot troublesome bulb bombs (not pumpkin, but the guy seemed to have a love for gardening and somehow had managed to weaponize tulips). Not that Spidey said any of this, but he was so past the realm of exhaustion, he was certain any of his normally snappy insults would be reduced to a barely coherent garbled mess.
So, he kept quiet, and as the team worked in tandem, they were able to bring down the Green Goblin wannabe. However, as it so often happens, there was always one surprise left for the team. A bulb bomb that had seemingly been a dud, lay on the rooftop, untouched and not exploding. If it had been any other day, and had Spidey been less exhausted, he would have felt the insistent tingling of his Spidey sense to give the slightly smoking thing a wide berth. However, it wasn't either of those things, and as Spider-Man stepped over it to approach the incapacitated villain, the bulb bomb went off, and effectively sent Spider-Man flying over the edge of the rooftop and plummeting to the asphalt below.
"SPIDEY!" came the unanimous cry from his team, and as one they moved to catch him.
Peter fell, urging his body to move and spin a web that would save his life but was unsurprised to find that he couldn't. His body had reached its limit, and as the pavement raced up to him, Spider-Man could only manage one thought.
"Who was going to take care of Aunt May?"
…..
Nova grit his teeth, pushing his body to fly faster than he ever had before. He had seen Spidey go over the side of the building, and despite knowing the guy could easily spin a web and get himself back up into the fray of the battle; the young guardian knew that wouldn't be the case. You see, the team had been watching this strange degradation that'd been happening to their spider for the past month or so. They all agreed something must have happened, but Nova was the one most effected by the change in their leader.
Spidey was the one who he could rely on for a friendly spar, or prank war to let off some steam and help him deal with the stress of being a superhero. Spider-Man, with his ridiculous quips and sarcastic jokes was the heart and soul of their team, keeping them in line just as he taught them the true meaning behind being a servant of the people. Not just Spider-Man though, Peter, the same Peter who was willing to subject himself to horrendous amounts of bullying with a peace that rivaled Danny; all to keep his secret identity safe. Sam couldn't help but respect the guy.
But lately? Spider-Man has gotten sloppy, and Peter was sleeping through classes. His grades were tanking, his once prolific combat skills were now a sluggish mess, and the already pale teen now resembled a ghost with dark bags under his eyes that made him look like a raccoon. (Sorry Rocket!). Beyond even that though, Peter had grown quiet. His seemingly endless chatter had slowly petered off, leaving the team on edge and uncomfortable with the silence. The only time words came out of his mouth were the occasional order or direction, and even though the words sounded weird, off. Like Spidey was tasting every syllable, ensuring that his words came out correctly.
Nova shook his head. He didn't have time for this. Spidey was falling to his death, and he was the only one able to save him.
So, with an extra burst of speed and a strangled scream of determination, Nova stretched his arm out as far as it would go to catch a hold on his leader's wrist and stop him from becoming sidewalk pizza. Spider-Man gave a jerk at the force of the catch causing his fall to come to an abrupt halt. Nova winced at the sharp pop that signified the poor guy's shoulder being dislocated, and quickly readjusted his grip to hold the tired spider around the ribs, as opposed to his arms.
Flying the two of them back up, the young guardian felt a frown mar his face when he noticed that Spider-Man was trembling, and even through the suit the teen's body felt much too warm. Deciding to head straight to the Heli-Carrier, Nova reported to his team;
"Guys, something's wrong with web head, I'm taking him to medical."
"Roger that," White Tiger responded, "we'll meet you there."
Looking down at the limp form of his normally indomitable leader, Nova felt his gut church with unease, "You better be ok, idiot," the young guardian murmured.
….
"What on earth have you been doing to this poor kid?!"
Peter lay in the infirmary, his body terrifyingly deathly still, but a nearby heart monitor gave steady beeps alerting anyone listening that he was still alive. The young Spider's arm was in a sling, the dislocated shoulder put back in place and now healing. An oxygen mask covered the placid, pale face, while the crisp white sheets made the dark bags of exhaustion under Peter's eyes stand out like punching bags. The entire team, plus fury and Doctor Connors were on Spidey watch, and things had just gotten tense.
Fury leaned back from Connors' assault, confusion etched into the strong jaw and brow line, "What are you talking about?" Fury scoffed, "I haven't done anything except his regular training."
"No," the doctor shook his head, his face a harsh grimace of angry sorrow, "No way, because there is no possible way that his normal training regimen would do THIS!"
"Uh," the soft voice of White Tiger breaking in caused the dueling men to turn and face the team who had been patiently awaiting the prognosis of their leader (and being ignored), "What is this exactly?"
Doctor Connors drew in a deep breath, his one remaining hand massaging the bridge of his nose, "Spider-Man is suffering from a variety of things," he said in a mourning tone, "the least of which being malnutrition and dehydration. However, even when you add in the fact that he currently has a fever of 103 degrees Fahrenheit, that is till nothing compared to the most severe case of over-exhaustion I have ever seen in my career."
"So, he's really tired?" Nova asked earning a punch in the gut from White Tiger.
Connors narrowed his eyes at the group of teens, trying to reign in the anger bubbling beneath the surface, "He's beyond merely tired." The man almost hissed, "he has pushed his body past its physical limit and then kept going. He's nowhere near a healthy weight, and his body is ready to break. He has thousands of muscular tears from intense physical exertion all over his body that haven't been able to heal because he hasn't given himself time to rest. The fact that he was even able to fight today without collapsing from the sheer pain of standing is incomprehensible!"
"Which is why I ask," Connors once again whirled around to stand nose to nose with Director Fury, his chest heaving as he seethed with anger, "what have you been doing to this kid?! What, have you been sending him on secret missions?! Solo training?! What was so important that you're willing to break a child to achieve your goals?!"
Fury remained stone cold, impassive and unmoved by the Doctor's anger. The Director wasn't the world's greatest spy for nothing, he recognized this outburst for what it was; worry. Doctor Connors was worried about a boy that somehow had stolen the hearts of almost everyone at S.H.I.E.L.D. including himself, not that fury would ever admit it. So, the director merely replied to the accusation in as neutral and noncombative tone that he could muster.
"What makes you think I had anything to do with it?"
Connors froze, his mouth open and ready to resume shouting, but his intellect bidding him to shut up and think for a moment. Fury watched the man puzzle through the question, before deflating and the anger dissipate to sheer sorrow, "What else could it be?" he asked weakly.
There, that was the question on everyone's mind. What was so important that Spider-Man would keep it a secret from his team and practically kill himself in the process? No one knew the answer, and no one even had a hypothesis. That is, until Spidey's phone started ringing.
The director walked over to the communicator located on the S.H.I.E.L.D. designed web shooter, and felt his brows furrow at the name on the ID. "Who is Frank?" he muttered unhappily.
Fury hated being out of the loop, hated the unknown, it was why he was such a good spy. So, when faced with something he had no previous knowledge or intel about, the director did what was only natural; he snooped into other people's business. Pressing answer, the sound of a man's voice came over the speaker phone. "Pete? Peter, where are ya? Your shift started an hour ago and you're never late, me and the boys are starting to get worried. You alright?"
"This isn't Peter," Fury growled, puzzle pieces suddenly starting to fall into place, "My name is Nick, I'm Peter's boss."
"That kid has another job?!" Frank asked incredulously, worry evident in his voice before heaving a sigh, "He really needs to slow down, I know he's trying to save his house and all, but I'm sure the bank will take a payment arrangement. At this rate, Pete's gonna kill himself."
Fury gave an answering sigh of his own, noting the looks of shock decorating the faces around the room, "Then I'm sorry to tell you this, but Peter collapsed at work today. I'm with the doctor now, and the kid's in pretty bad shape."
Frank released a savage growl, though it was plain to all who were listening that it was not directed at Peter in the least, "Poor kid," he moaned, "he just needed to hold on for one more week then he would have enough money to stop the bank from foreclosing on his house."
"Foreclosing?!" White Tiger burst out but was quickly silenced by a glare from Fury.
"What do you mean foreclosing on his house?" the spy asked.
"He didn't tell you, eh?" Frank chuckled, "Granted, he only told me so to convince me to give him a job, and then a couple weeks down the road when he asked me how to negotiate a payment arrangement for a car that was about to be repossessed, I pressed until he spilled. The kid has been working his tail off to get him and his aunt out of debt. He's managed to pay off all the overdue utility bills and even get the car current, but the house was the biggest problem. If Pete didn't have $5,000 by next Friday, he and his aunt would be served an eviction notice."
"What about his aunt?" Fury asked, "Isn't she doing anything about it?"
"Peter was pretty sure she was," Frank replied, "either saving up money or doing random fundraisers to get the cash together. His thought, however, was to get them out of debt and any money his aunt had raised could go towards future bills. He just didn't want them to lose the house, he told me that losing the house would feel like losing his uncle all over again."
Fury was dumbfounded, an experience he rarely endured, but this time he most certainly was utterly speechless. All this time Spider-Man had been going through training, completing missions, going to school and apparently holding down a job all the while shouldering this incredibly stressful burden and he hadn't told a single soul. Except Frank, that is, but the man clearly wasn't family and therefor didn't count. Why didn't he come to them?
The spy pursed his lips; he knew perfectly why. Spider-Man was private, he kept his personal life private, and never allowed himself to show weakness or depend on anyone else. That's what happens when you grow up a poor kid in Queens. You learn to become self-sufficient and don't dare complain about your lot in life. You just work hard every day to improve your situation bit by bit, until one day you finally find yourself having achieved the goal of no longer worrying about where your next meal was coming from, or how you would make the rent. It was the life of many children, regardless of race, background, or location.
"At any rate," Frank continued, "I've been thinking about this for a while, and hearing that Pete is in the hospital just makes me more confident in my decision. Tell the kid that today was his last day at work, I'm not gonna let him kill himself, especially for a job as cruddy as this one."
"But what about the money Peter still needs for the house?" The director queried, not believing for a moment that the kind voice on the other end would leave the teen high and dry.
"Don't worry about that," the man stated, his tone firm and determined "tell Peter I'm giving him this week as paid vacation and throwing in a severance bonus of $500 on top of the paycheck. That should be enough to save the house and give him a little extra for grocery money."
Relieved sighs broke out around the room, and Fury even cracked a rare quirk of the lips, "I'll be sure to tell him when he wakes up."
"Good, then I'll be going. Make sure Pete gets plenty of rest and don't let him sweet talk his way into working again, much less overtime."
Fury agreed with the man's conditions, then swiftly hung up. His mind was reeling with the new information given to him about their young hero. However, he would not be given the time to process this as it was in this moment that the young spider began to stir.
"Wha-?" Peter murmured weakly, struggling to remove the oxygen mask "Why am I-? How?"
"Easy Spider," Iron fist said soothingly as he and the rest of the team surrounded Peter, "you took the brunt of a rather large explosion, and was knocked unconscious."
"Knocked….unconscious?" Peter puzzled through the words, before blue eyes were blown wide in sudden panic "What time is it?!"
Weak arms pushed himself up into a sitting position, even as they gave a threatening tremble. Peter ignored this warning sign, something that made Fury frown deeply, and continued to try and stagger to his feet, "I need my clothes," he gasped, eyes already glazed with pain even as his shoulders pumped with hoarse wheezing breaths, "I gotta go!"
"Go where?" Fury rumbled, standing in front of the only exit with his arms folded.
The already panicked gaze kicked up a notch entering the realm of wild desperation, "I have…an appointment," Peter stammered, his legs shaking hard enough to cause the teen to flail for the bed rail so to keep himself upright.
Something akin to paternal fury exploded within the intimidating man. The Director had never considered himself a father figure, had never even considered indulging in having a family of his own. But there was something about this brash youth that had a fierce swell of protectiveness rise up within him. Peter wasn't just strong; he wasn't even just intelligent. Peter was determined. He was loyal. A leader who took charge even in the face of danger that had him scared out of his mind, but still managed to pull himself together long enough to lead his team to victory. Unfortunately, this young spider still fell to the fatal flaws many teens did battle against every day, and doubly unfortunate, he had no father figure to teach him how to choose his battles. Well, that was going to stop now. Fury wasn't a family man, but he was willing to make an exception for this one lost little spider who desperately needed a father.
"Oh, you mean your job at the docks?" the older man ground out, throwing down the gauntlet and waiting to see if Peter was man enough to pick it up.
"H-How," the youth spluttered, the shaking in his legs now spreading to his shoulders, the need to flee and run away practically radiating off his lithe frame "how do you know about that?"
"I'm the Director of S.H.I.E.L.D. that's how," Fury barked, "the real question here is why you never felt it important to inform me that you were holding down a job as demanding as that when you haven't even graduated high school yet? Do you realize how irresponsible it is to make a decision like that without even counseling with an adult for advice?"
The panic on Peter's face dissolved as sheer indignant petulance replaced it, "Why should you care?" he spat, "It has nothing to do with you! It's my business where I work, not yours. You're not my guardian, and you aren't even legally my employer. You have no right to question me!"
"I do when you endanger your health to the point that you collapse on a mission," Fury hit back, his one good eye narrow and threatening, "it is when you become a liability to the team I entrusted you with."
"A team that I never asked for, much less wanted!" Peter snarled, shuffling down the length of the bed to where his clothes were piled in a chair, though his gaze was riveted on the Director, "I came here to learn to be a better hero, not to be nagged about decisions I make, especially ones that are made for the good of my family!"
"And what about this family?!" Fury roared, "Just because we are a spy organization does not make our bonds any less strong. What would do you think would have happened if Nova hadn't caught you in time, and you were more seriously injured than you were? What kind of guilt and hurt would infect your teammate, much less the rest of your team? What do you think the consequences would be if you had over exhausted yourself to the point that you lost focus for one crucial moment in battle and died? Who would take care of your aunt then?! Did you consider any of that?"
For a moment, the loquacious Spider-Man was stupefied into speechlessness, and Fury took advantage of that silence. Turning to the rest of the room, the Director barked out an order, "Everyone out!"
"Wait, what?" Nova squawked.
"You can't just kick us out!" White Tiger expanded.
"Yeah, we're a team!" Power Man affirmed.
"I can, and I did!" Fury snarled, giving them his most intimidating glare, "Now, anyone who isn't a spider hybrid, LEAVE!"
With much muttered complaints, and angry looks, the room's occupants' sans Spidey and Fury vacated the room. Peter fidgeted in discomfort, dropping his gaze so to give a bitter mutter "You may as well leave too, I need to get changed."
Fury scoffed, taking note of how the weak trembling in the young hero's legs had grown into an unhealthy wobble that threatened to topple the spider, "You're not going anywhere kid."
"Yes, I am." Peter retorted, emphasizing each word, "I'm already late for my shift and I need to get there to make up for lost time."
The director shook his head, "No can do, you have no other option except using this week to heal and rest your body."
The teen grit his teeth, making the pearly whites give an audible creak that would have lesser men wincing at the sound, "If you think you're going to forbid me from leaving, you've got another thing coming." He snarled, "You're not my dad who can ground me from leaving the house."
"You're right, I'm not your father," Fury acknowledged, ignoring the odd twist in his gut at the statement, "however, whether I forbid you or not, the result will be the same. You no longer work there, and thus have no job to go to leaving you with the only option of resting until you've recovered."
Peter froze at the older man's words, his already pale featured whitening a shade further, "What do you mean I don't have a job?" he asked, the calm tone betrayed by the slightly strangled notes of panic.
"Just as I said," Fury shrugged in seeming nonchalance, "you no longer work there. Frank called while you were unconscious, and I told him you wouldn't make it tonight due to collapsing on the job. He asked me to let you know that he felt guilty letting such a young kid work under him and today was your last day."
The trembling afflicting Peter's legs finally brought him down, bare knees hitting the infirmary floor hard enough to crack it, "No," he whimpered, pale fingers winding into thick brown locks and tugging helplessly "No…I-I need….I can't…I need…the house, it's….I don't have…oh God."
For the first time since he met him, Fury finally saw less of the strong indominable hero he had come to know, and more of the frightened child that Spider-Man truly was. The boy slid off his knees and curled into a ball with his legs against his chest, the normally strong frame reduced to looking fragile and vulnerable. Frightened blue gazed blankly at the tile floor, a wild desperation on the fringes, and were quickly filling up with tears.
Approaching the young hero, Fury knelt down onto the floor so that they were eye level and asked a simple question, "Peter," he spoke in a tone far more gentle than even the Director knew he was capable of, "tell me what you need?"
"..I.." Peter whispered, voice hesitant and words coming out haltingly "I-I need," the youth swallowed hard, his confident mask cracking as the pride finally gave way to display the frightened child beneath; and as one solitary tear fell, Peter made the hardest admission he had ever uttered in his life, "I need help," he whispered in a tone that rode on a sob, "I can't do this alone, and I'm scared and so tired and I…I…I just miss Uncle Ben!"
Peter's breath began to speed up, evidence of a much-needed meltdown that was on its way. Fury didn't have time to consider the consequences, wasn't allowed the moment usually taken to talk himself out of such things. No, Fury had one decision, and he was currently face to face with a distraught teenager who had been forced into the realm of adulthood far too soon. So, Fury did something he had never in his life done before. Fury initiated a hug.
Pulling the young hero into his strong arms, Peter melted into the embrace, his body wracked by convulsive sobs that shook the pair to the core. His whole body trembled, not just from the emotional meltdown that had been long in coming, but from the sheer fatigue plaguing his frame. Later the spider would berate himself for behaving like such a baby in front of Fury, and Fury would question his sanity for even initiating the hug in the first place; but for the moment Peter clung to the man, venting all the stress and worry that had built up since the day he first found the bills. He had been strong for so long, trying desperately to be the adult, but in the end, he found he needed an adult to help take the stress off; and feeling the masculine arms around him, reminding him if Uncle Ben and his father, for the first time in years Peter felt safe and cared for. That he didn't have to be the ultimate Spider-Man, that he could simply be Peter.
The burst of emotion lasted for well over half an hour, and by the time Peter had cried his last tear, he only had enough strength to lay shuddering in Fury's arms, practically cuddled into his lap. Honestly, if the spider hadn't already been half delirious from fatigue, he would have been mortified. Fury sighed, relieved that Peter had finally found an emotional outlet before he exploded in an unhealthy way but remembered there was still one topic of business left to address.
"Frank said something else, just so you know,"
"What?" Peter's voice was hoarse and nasally from crying, but he was still coherent enough to hold a conversation which suited Fury just fine.
"He said he's giving you paid vacation next week and tossing in an extra $500 as a severance bonus. He promised to get it to you before next Friday."
Peter pulled away from Fury, blue eyes wide and mouth gawping like a fish, "You mean," he asked hesitantly, new tears pricking at his eyes but this time they were tears of joy "that I actually managed to save the house?"
The Director nodded, watching with a true smile as Peter fought the urge to cry all over again, but then his face suddenly turned angry making Fury to be taken aback, "You're telling me," Peter seethed, "that you knew all along that everything was fine, but instead chose to instigate me into a meltdown that made me look like a pathetic idiot?! You could have led with that you know instead of letting me bawl like a baby!"
The Director paused, considering the wall crawler's words before giving a mischievous glance at the young hero, "Quite possibly,"
Peter's jaw dropped at the blasé answer, and in one moment of pure unadulterated fury, screamed "You are such a JERK!"
This fic is dedicated to OfficialUSMWriter. The poor dear is having a rough time with her computer, (we've all been there, and we all have the utmost sympathies) and I wanted to write something that would give her the warm fuzzies.
BTW this was NOT supposed to be a father/son relationship fic between Peter and Fury, but it wrote itself that way and now I almost want to write more of it. What do you think? REVIEW!
