Missing Faces In Empty Pictures

Chapter 6

Peter threw the still damp wash rag over his shoulder as he finished cleaning the last table of the day. Looking up, he sees that the clock on the wall reads 5:45pm.

Only 45 minutes overtime. Not bad.

He shouldn't complain. After the stunt he pulled two days ago, he's lucky that he still has a job at all. He thought for sure that his boss would fire him the moment he learned that Peter had ditched in the middle of a shift, but Owen came in to save him again, telling their manager that Peter had gone home with the flu so as not to put the clients at risk.

Thank God for Owen.

"Finished all the tables Peter?" one of his other co-workers, Jana, calls from behind the serving counter.

"Yep, all done. You need anything else back there?"

"No, I think we've got it all covered."

"Alright. I'm gonna head out then."

"Sounds good, see you tomorrow."

"See you tomorrow."

Peter grabs his backpack from the kitchen and says one last goodbye to the rest of the staff before making his way down the streets of New York City. The sun has just started to set, casting its golden rays of light across the dozens of highrises and skyscrapers that line the streets. He stops at his little apartment a few blocks away to drop off his things before pulling on his suit and taking off for his nightly patrol. The city feels alive this evening which means he's in for a long night.

Good. I need something to take my mind off everything.

After the press conference yesterday, he'd gone straight home, slammed the door, and cried for hours. Cried out of anger. Out of grief. He'd dealt with reuniting with old acquaintances that no longer remembered him before, but Tony was different, because Tony meant something different. Tony had become an integral part of Peter's life before the blip-allowing him to come to the labs, hosting movie nights, taking him out for ice cream after exams at school. Slowly, but surely, Peter had come to see him, not as a celebrity, but as a parental type figure in his life. And boy had that thought scared him at first. Afterall, his track record with fathers wasn't exactly great. But after May died, Tony was the only one left that could possibly fill that role.

And I never told him.

He hadn't, because he was too afraid that it would scare Tony away. That it would ruin everything about the relationship they'd built. Tony Stark wasn't Peter's dad, and he certainly didn't need an awkward teenage superhero inserting himself into a role in which he didn't belong. But after everything that happened on Titan and with Thanos, Peter wished more than anything that he would have been honest with Tony. That he could go back and tell him how much his support meant to him.

After swinging a couple blocks away from his home, Peter landed on top of a ten story office building and began to run through his routine: thirty minutes here, then move on. Below him, he watched as people passed by, unaware of his presence above them. He thought about how many individuals walked these streets every day-each with their own stories-their own destinations in mind.

Fifteen minutes passed by uneventfully as the sun issued its last glimpses of light for the day. Soon the city would be lit by millions of manufactured lights shining from every billboard, headlight, and window within sight. Twenty minutes passed. Still nothing. He watches a trio of young boys running down the sidewalk; a basketball being passed casually between them. Thirty minutes. He's about to leave for another lookout when a holler from down the street catches his attention.

"Stop them! Thieves! They're getting away!"

Peter spots the source of the chaos. An elderly woman stands outside of a small mom-and-pop convenience store, pointing at the middle of the road where two darkly clad figures with backpacks are weaving in between traffic. Without any hesitation, Peter swings into action, webbing the side of the buildings around him he maneuvers his way to the other side of the road. Yells of "Spider-Man" from below alert the criminals of his presence. Instantly, they switch direction, diverting their course from the sidewalk to the middle of the street. Car horns scream as they dodge the oncoming traffic. Peter swings his way after them. They are moving fast, but not fast enough to evade him. Once overhead, Peter drops down and lands on the cement pavement in front of them. Trapped, they turn as if to run back the way they came, but Peter is too quick. In the blink of an eye, he shoots a web that adheres their feet to the ground.