Here to Help

We'll work on that

"Do you want a hug?"

His face lit up again just like it did then, with that sappy, almost pitiful hope, and he nodded fervently, as though worried I would change my mind at the last second.

I swung my legs onto the bed and shifted back so I was sitting next to him. Then I opened my arms and Peter buried himself into my side, his head resting on my chest and his thin arms curled tight around my torso.

"You sure like hugs," I said. Peter nodded.

"Safe," was all that he said.

I rubbed his back with my right hand, feeling dismayed that his spine and ribs still jutted out of his skin. He's gotta be starving, he slept for a whole twelve hours, and with his metabolism? I imagine his stomach must be absolutely cramping  with hunger.

But knowing him, I'm sure he would sooner pass out from low blood sugar than tell me he's in the mood for a snack.

"Nightmares suck," Peter said, pulling me out of my thoughts.

"Yeah. Yeah, they really do," I said. "You wanna tell me about it?"

"Um, well it was when the Vulture dropped that building on me, but it was Aunt May who was doing it. She kept saying that I broke the rules so she had to punish me."

"Man, that sucks. I'm sorry kid." I almost asked about this "Dad" he was talking about, but decided against it. If he didn't mention it, maybe that was something he'd rather keep to himself.

"Not your fault," he answered.

I know. I know it's not my fault. I know I wasn't the one who hurt him. But then why do I feel so damn guilty?

It's because I didn't notice. Not only did I neglect to realize my intern was fucking homeless, but I never even thought about what his home-life might be like. Never thought to check if he was okay.

Though as I glanced at the fork still sitting on his bedside table, a small part of my brain told me that I was being ridiculous, and not to blame myself for the pain Peter went through. But I wasn't interested in listening to that voice at the moment.

"I should probably get dressed," Peter said, looking down at his pajama-clad legs.

"Oh. I guess if you want to then. I think I'll stay in my pj's," I said with a laugh. I got out of his bed and shut the door behind me.

I spent the next ten minutes or so making breakfast, being sure to give Peter twice as much food as me. I put a Hulk bar on his plate too, in case the giant heap of scrambled eggs, toast, bacon, and milk wasn't enough. To be completely honest, I wasn't sure how much he really needed, but he did eat an entire box of pasta by himself yesterday so I thought it'd be best not to skimp on anything.

When everything was set, I looked towards the hallway. There was still no sign of Peter. Then I heard the elevator door ding and slide open, and looked to see Peter taking a step into the elevator, wearing his old (but now clean) clothes from yesterday, backpack on his shoulders and camera slung around his neck.

"Peter?"

Peter jumped, and the elevator door bonked his shoulder knocking him off-balance.

"Ow. Oh uh, heyyy Mr. Stark," Peter said, backing out of the elevator and rubbing his shoulder.

"What're you doing?"

"Goin' to work," he said simply.

"To work? Why?"

"Pictures won't take themselves, Mr. Stark."

Smartass even when hungry and sleep-deprived. The only way he could be more like me is if he put on sunglasses and grew a goatee.