Peter stood in the middle of their apartment, watching two strangers remove their couch. At first it was weird having random people come into their home and take things away, but Peter quickly grew used to it. First the TV and DVD player. Then the television stand and two bookshelves. Some of the books themselves. The small square dinner table and it's accompanying chairs. And today, the couch. Originally May had been sentimental about selling the couch since she had picked it out with Ben when they first moved into the apartment, but the possibility of a couple extra hundred dollars in their pocket was too enticing to resist for very long.
When May lost her job, the pair had sat down over Thanksgiving break to figure out a plan of action. Plan A would have been used if May had found a job within one week, but that didn't happen. Now, over two weeks later, they were following Plan B: while May continued to search for a new job, they would sell non-essential items. It wasn't a big deal; like Peter had previously thought, they didn't use their television anyway.
Unfortunately, things weren't selling fast enough and May was losing hours at the department store to temporary holiday workers, so some other precautions had to be implemented. For one, both smart phones had been sold for two basic flip-phones. Initially, Peter insisted that he didn't need a cell phone at all, but May didn't want him traveling around the city without one. They also cancelled their internet contract, leaving Peter to do his homework by means of the café's free wifi. This also wasn't a big deal to Peter: he barely did his homework in the first place.
Through all the cut-backs, Peter remained calm. Living a minimalistic life never killed anyone, right? He tried to take the depressing situation in stride, thinking of how appreciative he would be when they finally had cable and internet in their house again. It was just another life lesson in gratitude, right? So what if his friends were getting new laptops for Christmas? He didn't need those things to be happy. He didn't need a couch to have a home.
For a while, Peter convinced himself that the situation was normal and that everything was fine. However, a few days after the couch was sold, a new implementation forced Peter to face the reality of the situation.
"Peter? Are you in there?" May called, rapping her knuckles on his bedroom door.
From his bed, Peter looked at the clock. Eleven at night. "Uh, yeah, of course. Come in, what's up?"
Once she walked in, May sat down next to him. "How's homework going?" she asked, trying to make polite conversation before jumping right into her reason for being there.
Peter shrugged. "Oh, um, it's fine," he lied. He never did homework outside of his mornings with Castine. If he didn't finish the homework in the morning, then it didn't get done. His grades had picked up a little from those morning sessions, but they plummeted again after Thanksgiving. Peter thought he might be failing U.S. History, but he couldn't even care enough to check his current grade. Not wanting May to know all this, he asked, "What's going on? Did someone buy the coffee table?"
May gave a half-hearted laugh. "No, we didn't sell the table. But, I did come in to talk about money."
"I figured," Peter commented, grimacing.
"I'm sorry, Peter." She sighed. "It's about our December bills."
Peter looked up at Aunt May. This conversation was going to be worse than he thought.
May continued, "We'll have to put all the money from the couch towards rent which leaves the water, electricity, and gas bills."
"And food," Peter added.
"Yes, and food," May agreed. "In fact, we'll need extra food this month because you'll be home from school in a little over a week. You'll need breakfast and lunch here for two weeks. On top of that, we really need to get you new shoes because it's expected to snow this week." She looked at his shredded sneakers on the floor.
Peter nodded as he understood where the conversation was heading. He decided to get to the point. He stated, "So, we need to make some cuts again."
May just nodded.
"Well, I don't really need new shoes‒" he started.
"Yes, you do. The soles aren't even taped on anymore," May interjected. "Peter, I've already done the math. We would be able to manage everything except for the extra food. And if it's between food and‒"
"I don't need to eat‒"
"Peter, listen to me!" May demanded in frustration. She inhaled before saying steadily, "I think we need to stop heating the apartment. We can put an extra hundred towards food if we can get our gas bill down, and heating the place is what's making the bill skyrocket."
Peter was quiet. She was probably right: heating their tiny apartment was costing them. He knew he should say something, but he didn't want to accept a cold apartment with snow approaching. If the temperature dropped as far as was forecasted, everything would be cold. He would put on a cold jacket before going outside, throw on cold sweatpants when he came home, and crawl into a cold bed with cold blankets to sleep. The only difference between inside the house and outside would be the thin walls that held what little belongings they had left. Peter knew he needed food, but was food worth it?
"May," Peter began slowly. "What's the point of keeping my feet warm outside if we can't even keep the apartment warm?" He knew the question sounded harsh, but he didn't care. He was reaching the end of his tolerance for this miserable life.
May answered in a low voice, "You know why."
The teen knew exactly why. It didn't matter what was going on at home as long as no one else suspected that something was very, very wrong. It was the same reason why he hadn't told his calculus teacher very much and why he hadn't talked to Stark for over a month: the less people involved, the better.
"Okay, cut the heat then," Peter conceded. May hugged him and left shortly afterward.
By the next night, all the warmth had left the house. Peter began to wear socks and a hoodie at all times, and he actually preferred to shower at school so that he didn't have to face the post-shower cold when he turned off the warm water. During the night, Peter piled all of the blankets he had onto his bed and even his extra sweatshirts on top in order to stay warm during the night. Ned had insisted that Peter sleep at his house, but Peter felt guilty about abandoning May. So, he sucked it up and slept at the apartment. In the morning, the bitter chill seemed to have sunk into his bones, following him everywhere throughout the day. He wanted to cry, but he was sure that even his tears would freeze against his cheeks.
About a week later, Peter was standing in front of the heater in Mr. Castine's classroom, hands wrapped around his mug of steaming coffee. Although he was directly over a heat source, he continued to shake and his goosebumps failed to disappear. Not for the first time, he wished that he wore his Spider-Man suit underneath his clothes, but the fear of someone noticing it kept the temperature-regulated suit deep in his closet.
"Peter, you haven't stopped shivering since you walked in. Are you sick? Maybe you should go home," Castine suggested, worried about the student whom he had grown so fond of.
"No!" Peter forcefully replied. The thought of leaving the warmth of this heater and going all the way home made him want to die at the center of a hot volcano. At least then he'd die warm.
Castine was confused by Peter's outburst. "Uh, 'no' you aren't sick, or 'no' you don't want to go home?"
In that moment, at the mention of 'home,' something within Peter broke. His normally collected outward appearance cracked. Suddenly, words were spilling out of his mouth before he could stop himself: "Home? What home?! You mean that apartment where I sleep every night? That hasn't been a home in months. That hasn't been a home since Uncle Ben died!" Peter's voice had risen as all the thoughts that he had suppressed over the past couple months were now expressed as screams.
"Everyone is talking about the holidays: the grandmas and cousins and moms and dads and vacations and presents and 'joyful' this and 'grateful' that while I'm working all the time just to have enough food for winter break!" Peter yelled, his words running together. "We don't even have a couch to sit on, let alone a tree or candles or gifts. I wake up every day trying to just be grateful that I'm alive, and let me tell you, that's getting harder every morning!"
Peter was crying now. "First we had no TV, and that was fine. And then we had no wifi, and I can manage that, too. But no food? No heat?!" With his heightened senses beginning to overwhelm him, Peter squeezed his eyes shut as he continued, "I'm just so cold and so tired and so stressed and so hungry‒"
Just then, Peter's grip on his mug tightened, and it imploded under his mutant strength. The shattered pieces cut his hands, and the coffee left him drenched.
The shattering brought Peter back into focus. In shock over the coffee and his equally-explosive rant, Peter stammered, "Oh my god, I'm- I'm so sorry, I- It just- I didn't mean‒"
"Hey, Peter, it's alright," Castine softly reassured him. He was surprised at how easily the mug broke under the teen's grasp, but now wasn't the time to analyze it. He offered some napkins and began to pick up shards from the floor. Castine himself was in shock. He had a feeling that the kid's situation was bleak, but he didn't think it was this bad. From his kneeling position on the ground, Castine glanced up at Peter. The boy hadn't moved and seemed to be staring into space. "Pete, you with me?"
Peter blinked then turned to his calculus teacher. Just then, a realization hit him. "You're going to tell on me, aren't you?"
Castine stood up. "Tell on you?"
"Yeah. Report me. To the counselors or school or whatever."
Castine sighed. As always, Peter was right. Teachers in New York were mandated reporters: he was required to report any suspicions of child abuse or neglect to his superiors. "Peter, the law is in place to help‒"
"You know what? Just forget it. I need to go," Peter said, ignoring Castine. He picked up his schoolbag and walked out the door.