I don't own anything except any original character and/or any original plot

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Chapter Three: Home

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"Welcome to Lucas', may I take your order?" Your dad walked up to you and your mom with an exaggerated smile on his face.

"What's the special for today?"

"Any breakfast food I can find since we have to go grocery shopping!"

"I'll take that," you laughed.

"I'll have the same, you dork," your mom nodded.

"But I'm your dork," your dad winked before venturing off to track down some food, "Okay I think I can make some breakfast sandwiches."

You and your mom shared nods, "We're good with that."

"All right, coming right up then."

While your dad was making breakfast you went into the living room and turned on the TV, flipping through the channels until you found something interesting.

"In a breaking story, Captain America is now a fugitive! He broke into what should have been a secure prison along with his accomplice, the dangerous assassin the Winter Soldier. He broke out all those who had assisted him during the fight in Germany. The only one that hasn't been accounted for is the hero reported to be called Riptide, who was not apprehended."

Both of your parents looked over the half-wall to the kitchen at you, brows furrowed in concern.

"I'm sorry," you burst out, eyes wide. You didn't realize you'd gathered so much publicity, "It looks like they didn't see my face or anything that could trace back to me or Xavier's. I could still be in Germany for all they know."

Your parents sighed and shook their heads. Your dad went back to cooking, leaving you to talk to your mom.

"We knew the risks when we allowed you to become a hero, but that was when you were on soft missions with a covert team. It was good that you assisted them. The Accords could go so wrong so quickly and then I don't know what would happen to you or all the other mutant kids-" Your mom cut herself off, clearing her throat to seemingly pull herself together, "Please be careful, honey."

"I will be, Mom. I swear."

"Breakfast is rea- oh no, emotions!" Your dad stopped in his tracks when he realized you and your mom were having a moment.

Your mom chuckled and slapped your dad's arm as she passed on her way to the kitchen, "I've seen you crying during Me Before You."

"They could have been happy together!"

Shaking your head, you couldn't help but smile at your parents' antics. You stood from the couch and made your way to the kitchen to get a plate of food. You sat down at the dining table and began to dig in. Your parents sat down at their respective seats as well, having recovered from their drama.

"Tomorrow is your first day of school. Do you remember how to use your subway card? And how to get to school?"

"Yes, Mom, I'll be fine," you replied tiredly. She'd been asking those questions non-stop since all of you had moved to Queens, "I can survive getting to and from school."

"I'm just making sure," your mom took another bite of her sandwich before speaking again, "And you know you can't use your mutation openly like you did at Xavier's?"

You chuckled, "Yes because the first thing I was planning on doing was showing everyone in my math class that I'm a mutant."

"We're just reminding you," your dad said gently, "You've been going to Xavier's for almost as long as you've gone to school, it's very different from a public school."

Your small family finished breakfast in relative peace, working together to wash and put away the dishes after.

"Alright, game plan," your dad clapped, drawing your attention, "(Y/n), finish your room and bathroom. If you have time then do the kitchen. Your mom and I will handle the master bed and bath and the living room. We'll worry about the guest room later. Disperse!"

All of you cheered before breaking up to go to work. When you got to your room and turned on a speaker to listen to music while you worked. It always helped you focus and unpacking wasn't exactly your favorite activity.

Unpacking all the leftover boxes in your room took nearly an hour and a half. You found a place for all your souvenirs on your bookshelf and your photos went on your dresser or your desk. The only one that got the honor of being put on your nightstand was a post-mission picture of all the X-Men with their arms across their chests to make an X. It was cheesy and stupid and all of you were half asleep and beat up, but it was still your favorite picture.

You finished off your mostly unpacked bathroom and moved on to the kitchen. Having to unpack all the pots, pans, and tupperwares was tedious and annoying, but it had to get done before you could truly feel like you were at home.

"(Y/n), honey," your mom hurried into the kitchen dressed in scrubs, "A stroke just came in and I'm first call so I have to go. Would you mind getting groceries? Your dad will give you money, and here is the list. You can grab lunch too while you're out. I won't be here when you leave for school tomorrow but I'll make you lunch when I get home. Love you."

"Love you too, bye."

You watched your mom leave with a sigh. She'd been given a week to settle in before her new job officially started, and it seemed that the week of peace was officially over.

"Two hundred should cover everything," your dad handed over ten twenties, "Don't just buy junk, we need to have something green too. I'll finish up everything here. Oh! Bring back lunch too, I'm starving."

"Will do."

Grabbing your newly cut key to the apartment, you snagged your bag from the coat hanger and pulled on a pair of shoes. With one final wave to your dad, you were gone.

Because the elevator was undergoing repairs you had to take the stairs, which bothered your sore body, but your family was only on the ninth floor so it wasn't unbearable. As soon as you stepped out of the building, you were taken aback by the busyness of New York. You knew moving to a big city would be a big change, but this was the big city. The constant flow of people on the sidewalk urged you along and you got moving.

You tried to remember back to the few times you had left the apartment in the past week. There was a sandwich shop called Delmar's a block away and a grocery store two blocks away. You'd start at the store and work your way back.

As you walked along the streets you kept a strong grip on your phone and bag. You were well aware of how many light-handed pickpockets there were throughout the city, and you weren't about to fall victim to one.

When you passed the sub shop you took note of the comfortable, homely vibe. There was a cat on the counter which raised a few questions about how sanitary it was, but you shook your head and moved on. The grocery store was large, and would hopefully have everything that you needed.

As soon as you stepped into the building you felt a sense of relief wash over you. Being with the X-Men had raised your awareness of the world around you and had made you paranoid.

Retrieving a cart and pulling out the list you were given, you began to shop. Signs posted around the store let you know where things were, and you made a stop in nearly every section. The food that had been brought to the new apartment from your old house had run out. Your family was basically starting over.

On the way to checkout, you grabbed a few of the school supplies you didn't get yet and stepped into an empty checkout being manned by an elderly lady who smiled at you kindly.

"I like your hair, dear," she complimented as she was bagging your items, "Most kids these days dye their entire heads all sorts of colors. You have some more sense in you."

Laughing nervously, you passed off the comment as nothing more than banter. You were well aware that it was easy to pass off the only physical manifestation of your mutation as hair dye, but comments about it never failed to make you anxious. You'd tried dying the blue strips to match your natural color years ago but it was back to blue the next day. You were stuck with the blue for the rest of your life until you started regularly wearing wigs.

"That'll be one-eighty and forty-two cents."

Fishing the twenties out of your wallet, you handed them over and received $19.58 in change. Thanking the cashier, you put five bags on each arm and left. It was good strength training at least.

By the time you made it back to the sub shop, it felt like blood was no longer reaching your arms. Plastic bags were brutal - on the environment and on your skin. You pushed the door to the sub shop open with your hip and dropped the bags on the ground when you reached the counter, sighing in relief.

"What can I get you?" The man at the counter asked, not a double-take in sight despite your dramatic entrance. Considering it was New York, you were sure it wasn't the weirdest thing he'd ever seen.

"Um..." you looked over the menu, "A number six and a number nine, please."

The man input the orders into the register and turned to help his coworker with the subs.

"Hey, Mr. Delmar."

You froze, your eyes widening and your breath hitching. You had heard that voice before, you had fought that voice person, you were absolutely sure of it.

"Afternoon, Peter. That'll be ten dollars."

Nodding mutely, you retrieved the cash from your wallet and handed it over. You slowly picked up your bags and put the subs in one that was slightly more empty than the others.

He was definitely your age, with dark chocolate-colored eyes and hair that swooped to the side, stuck between golden brown and butterscotch. (God you sounded like the Professor talking about Magneto) When you glanced at the lower half of his face, you remembered what you saw of Spider-Man's face when his mask was slightly up.

"Every human is unique in facial structure," you could practically hear Jean's voice in your mind, as if she was projecting it to you at that very moment, "While yes, they are built with the same outline, no one fingerprint is the same, no one pair of eyes, no chin is the same."

"Here you are Peter, your usual."

"Thanks, Mr. Delmar."

Peter. His name was Peter. You took one last glance at Peter before looking away. He'd seen more of your face than you did his during the fight thanks to your domino, but you'd also only met once.

As you made your way to the door, you struggled to control your bag situation and nearly got stuck in the doorway.

"Excuse me, would you like some help?"

Closing your eyes, you cursed mentally. You knew you needed the help, you still had another block to go, but the last thing you wanted to do was take the chance. This wasn't how you were planning on meeting Spider-Man again, even if both of you were out of costume.

"Yes, that would be amazing," you cut your losses. Peter took five of the bags from you without hesitation, "Thank you so much. I'm (Y/n)."

"I'm Peter, it's nice to help you- meet you. Well, meet you and help you, I guess," Peter smiled nervously, and you felt heat rise on your cheeks.

The two of you left the sub shop, and you led the two of you down the street. If it was anyone else you'd stop several buildings away from your actual building, but Peter was a hero. You could trust him.

"I like your hair," Peter commented, filling the silence, "It looks kind of familiar. I feel like I've met you before."

"My family just moved here, actually," you were quick to correct to draw his attention away from your appearance, "From up in Westchester."

"Huh, I must have been thinking of someone else then. Welcome to New York."

You let out a breath of relief, mentally thanking the Superman Effect. The concept was simple. A person isn't recognizable without their 'glasses' especially when one or the other is an important figure. Normally it was because the human psyche didn't make the proper connections, as it was impossible to believe that someone who was seemingly ordinary could do something extraordinary.

Your apartment building was in sight, and you stopped under the portico to get out of the way of the people on the sidewalk.

"You live in this building?" Peter asked in shock, slowly handing over your bags.

"Yeah..."

"I live in the building down there," Peter pointed at a much more rundown building down the street on the other side.

"It's good to know someone then. It's weird since I'm new here. Small world."

You have no idea how much I know about you; you thought to yourself; I know your superhero and civilian identities

"Well, I hope you like it here. Do you want me to help you bring the bags up to your apartment?"

"Oh no, you've done enough already. Thank you again for your help. Maybe I'll see you around?"

"Yeah, yeah," Peter cleared his throat, "Well, I should-"

"Oh, yeah! Thank you again."

You left Peter and entered your building. The elevator repairs were done, and you thanked whatever deity was watching over you for that. You didn't think you'd be able to handle walking up nine flights of stairs with as many bags as you had.

When the doors dinged and opened, you struggled to get your key out and open the lock. Your fingers grazed the handle and you pushed it down to open the door. As soon as you were at the counter you dropped the bags with a groan. Angry red lines crisscrossed your arms, but that wasn't what you were upset about. All you had to do was get lunch and groceries and not even that could go right. Your dad must have heard you arrive because he was quick to arrive at the kitchen.

"What happened to you?" He asked, pulling items from the bags to put away in the cupboards.

"New York City is what happened," you deadpanned, retrieving the subs and setting them on the counter.

Together you put away the ten bags of groceries, talking cheerfully as you did so. The two of you were having so much fun that you were nearly able to forget about your encounter with Spider-Man AKA Peter.

"What's on this?" Your dad asked when you handed him his sub.

"Good stuff," you assured, "I found a sub shop nearby on the same street as the store and on the way home from school. I could probably stop there for dinner sometimes."

Your dad bit into his sub, humming and nodding in approval. You unwrapped yours; the silence making your mind wander back to the boy you'd rather forget.

"What's wrong?"

"I think I met Spider-Man," you answered honestly, "In his civilian form, that is. He was at the sub shop. His name is Peter."

"How do you know this Peter guy is Spider-Man?"

"Same voice, same height, their mannerisms are the same. All of it matches and makes sense. He noticed my hair, Dad, he said it looked familiar. I'm so screwed," you slammed her head down on the table, "This is not how I wanted things to go. I had a whole plan but if he figures it out then I don't know what I'm going to do."

"I don't see what the problem is," your dad shrugged, "You weren't asked to sign the Accords so you can't be brought in for that and you're a minor so any aiding and abetting charges will probably be dropped with Charles' help. This boy fought for what he thought was right because he's a hero. If he figures it out then so what? You can tell him the next time you meet as heroes to form trust, and if he says he's going to tell someone then you can threaten to kill him and throw his body in the ocean."

"Smart, but isn't revealing your identity right off the bat a big hero no-no?"

"This isn't a book or movie or whatever where you need to work together for years to gain enough trust in each other to reveal your names and faces. You know who he is now, it's a fair trade."

You nodded in understanding. It wasn't that you didn't trust Peter. He fought for the side he believed in and you could understand that, especially since both sides of the Avengers split made sense in different ways. It was more about the fact that you hadn't known of him for more than a day, much less gotten to know him more personally.

However, if you were going to start operating as a hero in New York, then you could get to know Peter and take a chance on him. Your parents were always encouraging you to make more friends, after all.