Chapter 11: Responsibilities

There was one major issue about being a seventeen year old living on his own. Outside of the whole loneliness aspect, of course. It was that he had no clue what he was doing.

Many things that should be obvious to him, and that would have been to May, he kept missing. That was why, after more than three days in his apartment, he still ended up with no towel as he stepped out of the shower. When he entered his room, the floor was littered with clothes, both clean and dirty, and his desk, already quite small, was overflowing with the few items he owned, as well as a significant amount of trash.

Unfortunately, he had forgotten to buy trash bags back at the convenience store, and he already had used up all the plastic grocery bags he had brought back so the junk had piled up. That was without mentioning the many hygiene items he had forgotten to grab, including deodorant, toothpaste, toothbrush, hairbrush and a razor. He also didn't have any shampoo.

He hadn't expected to need to buy so many things to live comfortably. Back in New York, all of those items had been as easy to acquire as slipping a word to May about needing one of them. Whenever she would do groceries, she'd always remember to grab what he mentioned.

He had kept on acting as if she would be here to take care of him in those little ways, forgetting what had happened last week. It was so easy to keep on living, especially now that he was in a new city, a new universe. He could pretend that she was still alive, just far away. That, eventually, she would come back and help him out again.

She couldn't. She wouldn't. He was alone in this, and he had to be an adult. He felt like a teenager, sometimes, but he couldn't afford to be one anymore.

It was hard.

Peter took a deep breath, running his hands through his messy hair. He needed to take care of himself now, that was what his aunt would have wanted. It was so hard to remember everything though, even now that he had housing and a job.

He ended up leaving his apartment and laying down on the roof to calm his thoughts. The clouds were heavy that morning, it would probably rain in the afternoon. He listened to the city move and breathe, commuters heading to their jobs, their schools. Planes sometimes flew overhead, leaving white trails behind, sometimes blending in with the clouds, sometimes cutting through the small spots of blue still visible above Gotham.

He rose after a few minutes, feeling significantly better. Heights had always helped. Ever since he had been thrown into this world, he had only indulged his love of high buildings once, when he climbed on top of the bridge. Everything else had been to hectic for him to even think about doing it again. Maybe he should have.

It helped clear his thoughts, to look down at a city this big. Made him feel both small and big, a cog in the machine but one that was able to see it all from the outside, on occasions.

Jumping back down into his apartment, he promised himself to take the time to explore the Gotham skyscrapers later this month. Perhaps for Christmas, if it wasn't too cold.

His heart twisted in his chest as he realized that, this year, he had no one to celebrate the holidays with. They had been a multicultural family, back in the days. Ben came from a non practicing Jewish family, like his own father, and May had been raised Christian, same as his mother. They had never pushed their cultures on him but he had childhood memories of both. Faith was not something he thought about a lot since becoming Spider-Man. He didn't have much time to think about spirituality.

No matter what, they had still celebrated every holidays. He still had gotten a gift even the year his uncle passed : a sketch book and a set of pencils. It had probably cost only a few dollars but, back then, they had been his treasures.

Later on, of course, May could afford more gifts and spoiled him with miniature sets, comic books and, once, a brand new computer. He cherished those early Christmas and Hanukkah the most, though, when Ben had still been there. Presents didn't matter as much as family to him.

For what seemed to be the hundredth time, Peter left his apartment to go buy more supplies for it. Adulthood seemed to be nothing but an endless string of expenses so far, very different from what he has envisioned when he thought of going off to MIT back before this all started.

Thankfully, most of the shops in the Bowery were cheaper than the ones he'd seen in the rest of Gotham. In one of them, he found an old metal locker that most definitely had been snatched from a school or a gym. The thing was ancient, with scratched up paint and some doodles inside. It only costed 10$ so he grabbed it, refusing politely when the owner, a kind older gentleman, offered to help him carry it to the streets.

At least that helped him remember that he was supposed to struggle with the thing a little. He pretended to drag it back to the building then, once inside and after checking nobody was looking, hoisted it up on one of his shoulders and ran up the stairs as fast as he could.

He would have to clean, modify and paint it a bit for it to become usable, but he felt like it had a lot of potential. If he could find a metal bar and some hangers, it would become a perfectly fine closet. He could also find some boards to put a couple shelves at the bottom to store even more of his belongings.

Of course, it was pretty thin, as locker tended to be, but it was better than putting everything on the ground.

Now decided to turn around his living space, hoping he wouldn't have to move everything out too soon, Peter gathered the rest of his money up. He still had some left over from his second to last shift and the previous night had built up on top of that. He was sitting on 175$. After some hesitation, he grabbed a hundred, split up into smaller bills, and hid it under his mattress, where the Spider suit was. He'd have to find a better spot for it, maybe build a hidden compartment inside the desk…

It would do for now.

He pocketed the rest and went out to find what he hoped would be enough to furnish an apartment worthy of the adult he was supposed to was. He gathered up basic personal hygiene supplies, splurged on a brand new towel from an actual mall that he found south of the district, and used the opportunity to look around for some paint to fix up his locker.

He ended up in a crafts store, in which he spent almost all of his budget. The paint wasn't the worst of it, he had been relatively conservative and had only chosen one color : red, but he also had to grab some brushes, one large for furniture and one small for equipment, some wooden boards, a pair of sewing scissors, a long circular wooden stick and finally some sanding pads. He barely had enough left after this for some trash bags, a sponge and a bottle of cleaning product.

Money went away so fast, even when he tried to buy only the cheapest version of everything. At least he had already gotten a tiny handsaw a few days back, during his first hunt for tools.

On his way back to the apartment, he dropped the stolen "S" hoodie and pants on the window ledge of the apartment he had grabbed them from. Hopefully, their owner wouldn't be too weirded out by them suddenly reappearing. He hoisted himself back up on the roof smoothly after that, picking up his purchases and heading back.

Once back in, Peter realized he had completely forgotten to grab anything to protect the floor, which was ancient and made of pure wood. He spent the rest of his morning up til lunch hunting dry, forgotten pieces of newspaper in the streets to put under the furniture as he painted it.

As he ate his ramen noodles, after coming back from his paper hunt, he almost gagged. He had had too much of that exact same meal, and it was starting to make it harder and harder to force it down.

Unfortunately, he still had a dozen portions to go through. Maybe he should splurge into a small fridge for himself, next time he got paid… Or maybe not. If he got kicked out, the thing would be useless unless he found another place with electricity.

It was tempting though. He was too paranoid about the building and its inhabitants to leave anything in the fridges and, considering they were both empty when he did check inside, he probably wasn't the only one to think exactly that. Being able to keep his own vegetables, meat and fruits without having them spoil and then being able to take them down and cook with them would be such a luxury…

He pictured himself cooking in the cramped basement and shuddered. It felt wrong. He and May had often cooked together when they made it home at the same time, it had become a ritual of sorts over the years. She taught him recipes from her side of the family but also some of Ben and his parents' favorites. He was forever grateful for that. One day, if he had children, he would share those meals with them just like she had with him.

He missed her. It hurt to think about her the most out of everyone back home. His best friend and girlfriend… ex-girlfriend, were still alive, probably still trying their best to achieve their dreams. It helped him, pretending that one day they would meet up again and talk like old friends.

He couldn't fool himself like this with May, he had seen her fade in front of his eyes, had held her body in his arms.

His eyes were starting to burn, repressed tears trying to break out. He slowly slid to the floor, dropping his shopping bags as he did so.

Loneliness hit him once again, eating at his heart and soul. He wanted to curl up on himself and stop existing, he had lost everything he had ever tried to achieve, everyone he had ever loved.

But letting himself die wouldn't make his family proud, would it? He would disappoint them by doing this. He had to be strong, he had to be an adult.

He slowly wiped his eyes, tears having won against his willpower in the end. He had six hours before he had to head out for his shift and he had a whole lot of work to do.

First of all, he started picked up all the trash he had laying around, stuffing it in a trash bag, which he took downstairs. After setting up his trashcan with yet another bag, he turned to the locker, the second and most crucial part of his "Clean the Apartment" initiative.

No one was there to tell him to clean his room so he had to figure out how to keep it tidy himself.

Peter set the newspapers on the ground, putting a few layers down to make sure no liquids seeped through. He then grabbed his sponge, dabbed it in the nondescript cheap cleaning product (which was probably mostly made out of ethanol), and started wiping down the outside of the locker. It was dusty and grimy, with several suspicious sticky spots that smelled slightly of alcohol. It took a good half an hour of energetic scrubbing for him to be satisfied but, once he was done, he couldn't help but feel accomplished.

Then, he remembered he had to do it all over again inside the locker and he groaned. He was already bored, the activity really wasn't stimulating. He missed his headphones…

Wait a minute. Didn't he have a radio on his desk? He slapped himself on the forehead, feeling like a fool. He had completely forgotten about it. That would have made his sleepless late nights a lot easier to deal with.

He wiped his hands clean before bringing it over, setting it on the ground next to the newspaper. It was connected to a wall socket with a cable so long he could probably take it through the window and up on the roof. That was a nice idea.

Peter sat cross legged in front of it, turning it on. Music started to play from it and he lowered the sound until he was sure no one else would be bothered by it. He then started switching in between the stations, looking for-

"bzzzzzt-lity news stories straight from Gotham city!"

Perfect.

A cheerful, feminine voice informed him that he had tuned in to "Gotham Watch", a show focused on covering events around the city. It was daily, she informed the listeners, and it ran for four hours on the clock. He scribbled it down in his notebook to remember to check it out regularly, a news channel was exactly what he was looking for.

Of course, teens his age didn't really listen to radio anymore unless they had a car and, even then, most people just used Bluetooth. He had gotten most of his infos straight from his phone or computer and therefore had not even thought about using the radio he had been lended… yet another thing that he had overlooked.

"The GCPD has published a statement today on their official Twitter account, announcing that progress was being made on the Firefly investigation. Commissioner Gordon will hold a press conference this Friday to update the public more in details."

Peter, who had started scrubbing the inside of the locker, almost dropped his sponge at that. Commissioner Gordon? Like pizza Gordon? Police contact Gordon?

His contact to the GCPD was the commissioner himself?

He had been confused as to why Marco had handed him the same pamphlet that Barbara had given him, after referring to it as Gordon's, but if the man was the commissioner that made more sense. He did remember the librarian telling him the police had been involved in writing the guide.

He hadn't had time to go over it again but he had put it on his desk, next to Harley's gift box and his new tools, in preparation for his next research day.

It could also be a coincidence, there could be two men named Gordon in the GCPD. That seemed more plausible than the head of the whole of Gotham's police force wanting to keep a mere pizza boy as a source.

Then, their last exchange had barely lasted five minutes and the man had mentioned having several other informants. Maybe that was why he had gotten to this position in the first place, thanks to his own network of eyes in the underworld.

Unable to decide what he believed yet, Peter went back to his work, speeding up his scrubbing to get done with it as fast as he could.

"Gotham's new daytime vigilante, The Signal, has been spotted in the Narrows once again. As a reminder to our more irregular listeners, it's okay we still love you, Signal has been active for two months now. It is suspected he works alongside the Bat, but, considering how hard it is to get the man to sit down for an interview, we can't confirm anything yet!"

Information about the city's heroes! He mouthed the new, unfamiliar name, elbows deep into the locker, now cleaning up the back. He'd have to wash it all over with water to get the smell of the product out, then dry it with his one and only towel to make sure he could start painting before his shift.

Urgh. He'd have to go down to the laundry room again. Something else he wasn't used to but had been forced to learn due to his situation. As long as he folded all of his clothes, May would clean them for him, unless she was too busy at work.

"And now some news from Arkham! Firefly has been reportedly secured and escorted there by the Dark Knight himself, ladies and gentlemen! He will join the many criminals that have been locked away in there, thanks to our local vigilantes! This time, though, if you remember correctly dear listeners, the Bat Clan was not involved in the fight… at least not unless they have a new member!"

Peter grimaced as the woman moved on to talking about the mysterious meta that had burst in during the arson attack. She was going easy on him, saying he had managed to stop the spread of the flames before the police got there, but immediately brought his mood down when she mentioned that the confrontation had been especially brutal.

"All in all, listeners, we don't know if we have another violent power hungry meta on our hands, yet! Let's hope it's not the case and the Bats are simply adding another meta to their ranks. It's only fair, with the kind of people we have roaming around this city."

He sighed, wishing he hadn't lost his cool and injured Firefly this badly. Because of this, everyone was now afraid that he was a raging meta, no better than any other rogue. He was probably the source of much of the anxiety in the city, now that he thought about it. What was more terrifying than a danger you didn't know? He was a completely new addition to the cast of super powered individuals in the town, they had to be at least a little wary about his intentions.

He switched out the cleaning product for water and started washing off the locker again, getting as much of the chemical smell as he could out of it.

"On the other side of city news, here's some rich folks talk! Wayne Tech recently made a move into the phone market, snatching one of Luthor Corps' brightest engineer, the man behind the immensely successful LexPhone. I'm happy those never caught on in Gotham by the way, what a terrible name am I right?"

Wayne was a familiar name, Peter had encountered it several times around town, yet couldn't precisely remember where.

He soaked up the water with his towel, drying as much of it as he could. Once he was done, he threw the piece of fabric into the bathroom then stood up and grabbed his brushes and paint from the shopping bags.

He started painting the outside with careful strokes, taking great care to keep them even, even though the original layer was scratched up. He would have to set several layers anyway, and polish the bumps away with the sanding pads.

"The holiday season is coming up! Here is a quick sum up of the events you can attend to celebrate. First of all, the Wayne Foundation is sponsoring an Arts week, which will see every museum and theater in the city open for free for the week leading up to Christmas! I don't know how Brucie is earning this much money to throw away but the man keeps doing it!"

Peter considered visiting some museums himself. It was a luxury he hadn't thought he'd be able to afford anytime soon but, if they didn't ask for his ID, maybe he would check it out. He loved learning new things.

He now also remembered where he had heard about Wayne Tech. The Wayne Foundation had been the one sponsoring the job agency he'd been to, as well as Barbara's information pamphlet. It sounded like the owner, or at least head of the organization, was a man going by the name "Brucie", which was kind of odd but he tried not to judge.

A first layer of paint was quickly applied to the outside and he moved on to the inside. The radio lady was babbling about a bridge project that was happening between one of the main downtown islands and some of the outer districts. He didn't really care about this so he zoned out then, when she didn't change subjects, eventually switched to another News station.

This one was a global network. Some of the cities the host, an older man, mentioned were completely foreign to him. He kept talking about a "Metropolis", which seemed like the most redundant name for a city Peter had ever heard.

The program introduced him to other super heroes, some of which he remembered reading about on Wikipedia. There was Superman, Flash, Wonder Woman…

Gotham was briefly mentioned, in a slightly joking way. The host cracked a joke about the crime rate, as if it was some kind of laughing matter and Peter turned the radio off in annoyance. People had died in that incident. Even if death was common here, it didn't make it right to make fun of victims like that, especially so soon after it had happened.

He finished working in silence, going until the locker's surface felt smooth under his touch. The paint was quick to dry and he only had to wait half an hour between each layers, which he spent putting the wood boards in front of the locker, figuring out where he needed to cut them, then turning them into what would eventually be shelves.

At five in the afternoon the paint had fully dried, just in time for him to close his windows. The rain had finally decided to fall, thundering on the roof above him, and he wanted to spare his floor the flooding. The sound was a bit overwhelming, sounding louder than what he had expected. It was soothing too, in an odd way.

He had a bit more time left before having to head inside so he started making notches inside of the locker, where he would set his shelves and the stick he'd use to hang his clothes on. Thankfully, he didn't have much so he should be able to fit it all in.

The wood fit in easily, the hanger first, then the shelves. He took a few steps back, examining his handiwork. It looked good, better than he thought he could achieve, in fact. The red had been a good choice, the paintwork looked brand new, despite him having used simple, cheap brushes and not an airbrush. The sanding pads had turned out a bit hard to use as pressing down too much scratched the paint, but he had eventually gotten the hand of it.

He didn't have anything to hang his clothes off of so he folded his clean ones instead and slid them into the shelves. He only had four shirts and two pairs of pants in total and only three of those items were clean, which left a lot of space available.

He eventually stored his tools at the bottom then picked up the locker to take it off the newspapers carpet. He set it in the corner between the desk wall and the bathroom adjacent wall. It looked pretty good, made the place look a bit less empty.

And now his apartment was tidy. He had managed that, at least.

Before heading out, Peter shot a look at his umbrella. He didn't think it was sturdy enough to survive a night of running in the wind, unfortunately. He'd just have to put on a shirt, his pizzeria hoodie, and hope for the best.

That was yet another thing he had forgotten to get : rain clothes. He'd just have to bear with the humidity for now, unfortunately.

He didn't go out through the window, not wanting to ruin his floor because of the rain and took the stairs instead. As he climbed down to the second floor, he had to step out of the way of a burly, scarred man. It was the first time he had met one of his neighbors and the guy looked pretty much exactly like what he had pictured when thinking about them.

Big, though, mobster guys.

Then, maybe he was judging too quickly. Maybe this big dude was lacking an ID, like him, and didn't have a choice other than live here. And maybe the pistol Peter had spotted in his jacket's inside pocket was only there for self defense.

He really didn't like thinking about how his neighbors could potentially all be criminals. If he had still been active as Spider-Man, it would probably have stressed him out even more, thinking about how they could spot him entering the attic. At least, now, he wouldn't risk getting caught with the suit on, because he didn't have a suit anymore.

It took only a dozen seconds for the water to get through his hoodie and to his skin. It was cold, of course. With his luck, he would end up catching a cold by meeting so many people in such a dreary weather.

He mourned the loss of his scarf, fallen during the fight against Firefly. He probably needed to get another one to prepare for the colder half of winter, which was quickly approaching. January would be hard to get through without proper gear, if the temperatures were at all like the ones in New York. At least his landlord was kind enough to keep the hearing on through winter. That had not been a luxury they had always been afforded, back as a child.

Soaked to the bone, he made it to Marco's dripping with water, his socks completely drenched and his shoes so wet they were squeaking with every step. His boss took a long look at him when he entered the pizzeria then sighed, looking exhausted.

Peter's "hello" went unanswered as the man stood up and left for the back room, limping heavily. He came back with the pizza bag, the GPS and what looked like a grey plastic tarp.

"Put this on." He told him, throwing the tarp at him. "Plastic poncho. You can keep it." He'd heard of those before but had never worn one. He knew they looked ridiculous but with the current weather, he didn't care.

"Uh… thank you?" He grimaced as the question left his mouth, feeling awkward. His boss was nice to him, but it also made sense for him to be. He would definitely be making less money if Peter got pneumonia and couldn't deliver food for him anymore.

As he put the ugly thing on, Marco brought something out of the kitchen. Another tarp, this time see-through. He started pulling on it until it unfolded. It looked like a large box, a bit like his pizza bag but with some holes in it.

Oh. He realized, as the plastic sheet was wrapped around the bag that it was there to protect the food. His backpack itself wasn't waterproof but this would make sure the pizza would stay safe. Pretty smart. Also pretty terrible looking.

"Twenty deliveries tonight." Marco grunted. "'s lot so I'm giving you 50 upfront for overtime."

Peter gratefully accepted the money, thankful for the poncho, which would protect it from the water.

"You could hire someone else." Peter told him, "And not have to pay overtime. I don't really mind, though."

The rain was a bummer but it wasn't that bad, now that he had something to wear for protection. He also badly needed money for his suit and web fluid, not to mention everything else he hadn't bought for his civilian life. He had somehow managed to forget to include a med kit in his shopping list. Classic Peter move, really.

His boss didn't look overly thrilled by his suggestion, mouth turned downwards, brows furrowed. He crossed his arms, visibly displeased at the prospect of having to take someone else on.

"I didn't think we'd get this amount of orders this quickly." The man eventually admitted. "Getting a second kid to deliver is a big risk."

Peter could see how it could be uncomfortable, sending teens out into the Gotham night. Of course, he would be safe, even if he got shot he could always walk it off after a few days of recovering but a non-meta? It might be a bit harder for them to get through the deliveries and come back in one piece.

"I guess you could also limit the number of orders per night, if you don't want it to get too extreme." He suggested instead, not wanting to push something that was getting him such a negative reaction. Marco nodded thoughtfully.

"I'll think about that while you're out. 'Let you know when I decide, might not be today." He waved him off with a grunt. "Get to work, boy."

Peter obeyed, holding his GPS under his poncho to keep it dry. It felt weird to wear so much plastic but it worked pretty well. The water bounced off the poncho easily. It was thick and coated with something that he couldn't identify the smell of, not some low-quality coat then. He felt a bit touched at that, and also very relieved : that was one less thing he had to worry about.

His first pizza led him to the Bowery, to a trio of plastic flower wearing men, who greeted him with smiles and cheers, sheltering from the rain in a bus stop that looked like it hadn't been used in decades.

"Pizza, no fucking way!" One of them exclaimed when he took it out of the bag. "Since when do they deliver here?"

"Told you it'd come, brat." The oldest member of the group bragged, accepting the box Peter was handing him. "Thanks kid," he told him, "it's nice to have some neutral parties around."

"I still can't believe you got pizza delivered to the fucking Bowery." His friend was muttering, shaking his head.

Peter accepted the tip he was given and eagerly left the place. He was never fully comfortable around the clients he knew were gang members. Out of everyone in Gotham, they were the ones he was the most likely to end up beating up one day, when he began acting as a vigilante again.

Still in the Bowery, he ended up under an old bridge, bringing pizza to a duo who suspiciously looked like undercover cops. They looked so bored that they were probably on a stake-out. Those could get old really fast, he remembered.

They did look heartened by the delivery, cheering up a bit when they opened the box and saw the intact pizza inside.

He wished them good luck and left them to their unsubtle stake-out. At least the bridge protected them from the rain, which hadn't always been the case for him in New York. He'd tended to hide on top of buildings, where the downpour tended to be even worse.

A surprisingly large amount of civilians had ordered in tonight, spanning all across the various districts he delivered to. It was a nice change of pace, to hand over the food to families and young adults and not get threatened at gunpoint as he did so. He made the first trip back to Marco's with pockets full of cash and a distinct lack of blood on his clothes.

Truly, it was nice to finally get a break.

Then, he remembered how nice the previous night had been and how it had all gone downhill once he stepped into Crime Alley.

He had probably jinxed himself, thinking about that. Was he cursed to end up in a fistfight every shift?

Of course, his first delivery of his second load broke his stroke of relaxing, stress free runs by directing him straight to the GCPD headquarters in Old Gotham. Apparently, it was time to report to Gordon.

The fact the man might be the commissioner stressed him out slightly. He was afraid he would slip up, betray his identity somehow. The police couldn't know about him being involved in the Firefly incident, they probably already assumed he was a violent meta, they might not even ask questions before shooting.

For a second, he was transported back in time, to a building lobby, to fire and gunshots and sirens and lights. A man laughing, his aunt collapsing.

Peter wondered if that night would ever stop haunting him, if the guilt would ever lessen. He didn't know and, now, he had no one to ask it to.

Still.

He had to keep on going, even if that meant meeting up with the potential head of the GCPD, who thought he was just a teenage informant. Lying was not his strong point, he was aware of it, but he would have to learn, and quickly.

But first, he needed to figure out if his Gordon was truly the commissioner.

No time like the present to learn how to extract information, and no better training partner than an experienced police officer.

He was so screwed.

Notes:

Gordon next chapter.