IronDad/SpiderSon One-shots

"I didn't think this through"

Third Person POV:
Word Count: 5,717
Trigger Warning: Mentions of targeting/Brief mentions of a panic attack/Violence
A/N: This is a birthday present for a friend of mine. Grace, I hope you enjoy this and I wish you the happiest of birthdays!

When you live in a low income household, you get used to things. You get used to buying off-brand stuff from the grocery store. You get used to getting clothes second hand. You get used to going to the public library to use the free Wi-Fi. You get used to not really eating out and not going to the movies unless it is on discount night. It isn't a bad life, but you just get used to not having anything fancy.

Peter thought he was used to that. He thought 'it can't ever get worse' and was grateful for what he had, but little did he know that it did get worse.

For three weeks, Peter had been living strictly off of Ramen Noodles, Gatorade and fruit snacks. He was constantly cold, having a dirty blanket he found by a dumpster as his only source of warmth. The jacket he had was far too thin for the oddly cold chill April was bringing. He was wearing clothes he found at a random thrift store he hadn't been to before. The clothes were too big and they weren't his style, but that was the point. He wasn't trying to look like himself. He was trying to look like anyone but himself.

He hadn't gotten much sleep. He was staying—well, squatting really—in this abandoned building that was on the border of Queens and Brooklyn. He wouldn't have known about it if it weren't for one of the people he helped out weeks ago. It was some homeless guy that Peter gave his churro too. They got to talking and he told him about this place. If it weren't for him, Peter would be sleeping out on the streets, which definitely wouldn't help him stay hidden. That was his goal, after all. To stay hidden.

A shiver ran down his spine as he tried to wrap the blanket tighter around him. It didn't provide him much warmth. It only made him mourn the warmth he once had. The warmth of the blankets. The warmth of his apartment. The warmth of the arms of the people he loved—the people he was missing. He wished more than anything he could go to them and talk to them. He wished that he could just let them know that he was okay, but he couldn't.

Peter was on the run. Well, he wasn't really on the run, but he had been. Everything in his life changed so fast, he never really had time to adapt to what was happening. In the span of a month, he went from everything normal to being dead. Well, technically he wasn't dead, but the entire world thought he was dead. A part of him felt dead, too. Whether that was from constantly consuming Ramen or from the vacant shell that replaced his bubbly personality, he couldn't say.

To make a very long story short, here's what happened:

About a month ago, Peter went out on patrol like he normally does after school. He was dealing with typical patrol stuff, like helping little kids find their pets and helping old ladies with their groceries. He was about to take a break when he heard explosions. He swung towards the sound and saw a man looking like his inspiration for his evil costume was Steve from Minecraft. Costume aside, Peter's senses went off the second the man turned around and they made eye contact. There were civilians screaming and running to safety, but that all seemed to fade when he made eye contact with this man.

"Peter Parker. The pleasure is mine."

Those six words through Peter's entire world off its axis. This person knew who Peter was. He knew Peter's identity. He made sure he still had his mask on in shock, but he did. This man knew. That terrified Peter. He still fought the man—who's name turned out to be Nathaniel Riegel. Thankfully, Tony came around and helped Peter with his battle, but Nathaniel got away. He left Peter to live with the terror that he knew who he was. It caused Peter to spiral into a panic attack.