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“It’s just one bad grade, dude. It doesn’t even count for anything.”
Peter held back a scowl as he turned to his friend in science class. “It counts for 10%, Ned.”
“Okay, it doesn’t count that much.”
“It matters okay? If I lose this scholarship…”
“You won’t. You’re the smartest guy in the class. You were just having a bad day.”
A bad week , Peter corrected in his head.
It was the same every year around this time, around the time of his uncle's death. It was the only thing he could think about. He didn’t like to talk about it, but May knew. To make things worse this year, the school scheduled a calculus test on the day. May had tried to get him to stay home or at least tell his teacher, but he didn’t want them to know. He didn’t want to see the sympathy in their eyes when they started looking at him differently. He hated it.
“You know what you need?” Ned asked, breaking Peter out of his thoughts, “a party to take your mind off it.”
Peter scoffed, “a party is the last thing I need.”
“It’s the perfect solution! Betty’s having a birthday party tomorrow, we should go.”
“ You should go,” he corrected, colouring in the corner of his worksheet with a pencil.
“Nope. I’m not going if you don’t and I really want to go.”
He dropped the pencil, turning to tape at his friend who wore a mischievous smile. “Are you guilt-tripping me right now? That’s low.”
“I’m doing what’s best for you.”
“Sure,” he grumbled.
“My mom can pick you up on the way, no excuse.”
Peter rolled his eyes, turning his attention back to his physics worksheet.
“I think it’s a good idea.”
Peter gawked at May, “seriously?”
“Yes! You’re young, you should be out having fun,” she said, squeezing his shoulder as she worked around him in the kitchen.
Peter sighed, leaning against the counter. “It could be fun I guess.”
His despondent response must have worried her because she stopped and a sympathetic expression replaced her usual happiness. “Look, if it’s terrible you can always give me a ring and I’ll come get you.”
“But you’re working.”
“It’s okay, I’ll just say you’re sick.”
“I’m sure I’ll be fine,” he assured, not that he believed it.
“You’ll have a blast! Say hi to Ned and his mom for me.”
Peter stood in the hallways next to a too excited Ned. He was wearing his staple party outfit of flannel shirt and hat, taking in the atmosphere as they entered whilst Peter tried not to dampen his mood. “Awesome. Oh look, there’s MJ!”
He felt himself relax, smiling as they greeted their friend in the kitchen.
“Sup dorks.”
“I swear you only come to these things to eat their food,” Ned commented, watching as she made herself a sandwich.
“So? Rather this than that,” she said, nodding at a full table of beers.
“Holy shit. Betty’s parents bought everyone alcohol?”
“Well, it didn’t just appear magically.”
“This is awesome ,” Ned said, heading over to the table and grabbing two bottles. He came back, holding one out to Peter.
He frowned down at the bottle and back up to his friend. “Dude, what are you doing?”
“Being a teenager?”
“You’re joking, right?”
“Peter this is the perfect way to take your mind off that stupid test. Plus you can’t get that drunk, right? Your metabolism will just burn it out. No one will get in trouble.”
Peter continued to stare at the bottle like it was some terrifying object, but curiosity started to get the better of him. Could he get drunk? Painkillers didn’t work on him. Any medication he had had to be upped to take any effect, so one beer couldn’t do any harm. Did he even like beer? People often drank to drown out their problems. Maybe it would do the same for him…only one way to find out.
“Where’s the bottle opener?”
Ned broke into a smile, slapping his friend on the back. “Hell, yes!”
Turns out one beer didn’t do any harm, it was the six after that which really screwed him over.
He hadn’t even noticed the alcohol taking effect until he was slurring his speech and chatting to people he never usually would.
It was going okay until he went to the bathroom and caught a glimpse of his reflection in the mirror washing his hands.
His eyes were glazed and his breath stank of beer and the only thing he could think of was, ‘what would Ben think if he could see you now?’
The thought alone brought tears to his eyes, watching his lip wobble pathetically in the mirror. He’d failed a test and he thought going to a stupid party and getting drunk was a good idea? Ben never liked alcohol. He remembered at a dinner with some of his Uncle's friends he said he didn’t like what beer made people become when they asked him why he didn’t drink. He said he never wanted to lose control of himself.
Peter choked out a sob.
He’d lost control. All because of a stupid grade since he couldn’t get his mind to focus on anything other than his Uncle. He’d had nightmares every night before the test, waking up crying after dreaming of the night of Ben's death. He could still feel the blood on his hands as he tried to stop the bleeding. He could see the energy leaving his uncle's body as he bled out in his arms.
He looked down and suddenly the water washing his hands was a thick crimson, dripping off his fingernails.
He let out a strangled cry, grabbed the towel on the side and scrubbed his hands dry until his skin started to scratch.
He threw the towel away, panting heavily as he looked back at his reflection.
He needed to go home.
No, he needed to see Ben. He needed to apologise.
Scrambling for the lock, he pushed the door open and jumped down the stairs. He didn’t check to see where his friends were before heading out the front door and running as fast as his legs could take him down the street. Betty only lived three miles from the cemetery Ben and his parents were buried. He could do that easily, he decided, right before his ankle rolled and he fell over. He caught himself on his hands and knees, both scraping against the unforgiving gravel, but it didn’t hurt. He got up, continued to run and luckily didn’t fall over again.
He was slower than usual, his movements were uncoordinated and he couldn’t seem to run in a straight line but he had to keep going. He had to say sorry to Ben.
He made it in just under fifteen minutes, stumbling to a halt at the graveyard. He swallowed, brushing off his clothes as if to make himself more presentable.
He walked up, taking the well-known route to his grave.
Reading the words on the stone, he sunk to his knees and let his head drop below his shoulder. A sob wracked his body, letting his fingers brush over the face of the stone. “I’m sorry, Ben. I-I didn’t mean to.”
He swallowed thickly, manoeuvring himself to sit cross-legged. “I didn’t wanna get drunk. Don’ wanna disappoint you.” He choked out another sob, staring at the words loving brother, husband, uncle. “I’s all my fault. A-And now I was dumb and got drunk because of a stupid test… I just wanted to make you proud. So much for th-that.”
He let his head rest against the stone, taking comfort in the ice cold against his forehead. “I’m sorry, Ben. I’ll be better. I promise,”
He cried for a little bit longer until all he was left with was a tear-stained face and shivers that took over his whole body. He wanted to leave, but who would help him? His family were here with him, other than May and he refused to make her leave work just for him.
He pulled out his phone, dialling the only number he knew to call right now.
“Hey, kid. It’s late, everything okay?”
“M-Mr Stark,” he cried instantly.
“Hey, Pete, what’s up? Are you hurt?” He asked hurriedly and he could hear something clattering to the floor.
“‘M drunk.”
He heard Tony sigh down the phone, “okay. Which party am I picking you up from?”
“Not at the party anymore.”
“What? Where are you? Are you with anyone?”
“Went to see Ben,” he whispered, waiting for the disappointment which never came.
“Oh, kid.”
The words were spoken so softly it sprung fresh tears to his eyes. “I messed up, Mr Stark.”
“Hey, none of that. I’m coming to get you, okay? Just stay where you are and no talking to strangers. I’m ten minutes out. Want me to stay on the line?”
“Y-Yeah.”
“Okay, okay. Cool. How was school today?”
“Didn’t like it.”
“Why’s that, bud?”
“Can’ stop thinking about it.”
“About what?”
The fact I killed my uncle. “The grade I got in calculus.”
“You got a bad grade? That’s not the end of the world, kid. You should see the ones I got when I was your age.”
“‘M jus disappointing everyone.”
“No you’re not, kid. We’re all so proud of you.”
Peter screwed his face up, shaking his head. “You’re not. I-I’m drunk. You’re disappointed in me. Ben would be too. May will be-“
“Hey, a bit of teenage rebellion is normal, right? No one is disappointed in you,” Tony reassured in his weirdly gentle voice. He was sure adults were supposed to be angry when they found out their kid had been drinking illegally. Maybe it was because he wasn’t his kid.
Peter stayed quiet, staring at the words again. Brother. Husband. Uncle.
“What are you thinking, bud?”
“I miss him.”
“Oh kiddo, I know you do.”
“I miss him s-so much,” he stuttered, “d-do you think he misses me?”
“I’m sure he does, Peter. Anyone who’s been lucky enough to know you would miss you.”
“You don’t mean that.”
“I do, kid. You’re so loved, you know that?”
Peter bit his lip, looking at the wilting flowers he and May had left last month.
“Pete? You there?”
“I don’t feel so good,” he admitted, feeling his stomach tie itself in knots.
“Yeah, alcohol will do that to you.”
“‘Don’ like alcohol.”
“Me neither, kid.”
“Tony?”
“Yeah?”
“Will you leave me too?”
There was a choked sound down the phone. “What?”
“I lose everyone. Will I lose you too?”
“No. Christ, no. Not if I have any say in it.”
“But you never do, that’s the-the thing with dying.”
“I promise kid, I’m going to do everything I can to try and stay with you forever, okay?”
“Promise?” He whispered, hanging off his every word like a lifeline. Perhaps they were, who knows what he’d have done if he hadn't had Tony to call.
“I promise, Pete.”
Peter hummed, staring at the ground again.
“I’m pulling up now. I’m going to hang up, okay?”
“Okay.”
He heard running behind him up the path, he doesn’t need to turn and check who it was.
“Oh Peter,” he hears before he’s pulled into a tight hug.
The strong hold and sudden feeling of safety tipped him over the edge, dissolving into a fit of tears. He cried into Tony’s shoulder, holding onto him as strongly as his sluggish limbs would let him.
“Let it all out, Roos. I got you.”
He let out a gurgled cry, somehow now fully sat in Tony’s lap. Snot and tears mixed into one, all ending up on his mentor's shirt, not that he could bring himself to care. All that mattered was Tony was here. Tony was holding him and keeping the bad thoughts away.
“Oh, Pete. Look at your hands,” he cooed, holding both of his hands so his scratched and bloody hands faced upwards. “Let’s get you to the car, hm? You’re freezing.”
Peter frowned, looking up at Tony through his red-rimmed eyes which were luckily disguised in the darkness of night.
“Yeah, you’ve got your beer jacket on alright, but that won’t stop you from getting hypothermia. Want to walk?” Tony asked, but Peter shook his head.
He tutted with a small smirk, organising Peter so his legs were on either side of his hip and stood up. “You good?”
Peter didn’t respond, too busy soaking up the warmth of his mentor as they walked.
“How much did you drink, bud? You smell like a brewery.”
“Dunno’” he hiccuped. His mind went fuzzy after the fourth and he was pretty sure Ned had handed him a shot of something nasty at one point.
“You’re gonna have one hell of a sore head tomorrow, kiddo.”
Peter sighed, letting his eyes slip closed as they walked, head resting on his shoulder.
Tony didn’t say anything as he offloaded him into the passenger seat, even taking the liberty to fasten his seatbelt before slipping into the other side.
“Now are you okay before we set off?”
Peter nodded tiredly, staring back at the cemetery entrance before the car silently started and they drove away.
“I guess I don’t need to lecture you on why drinking is bad for you.”
Peter shook his head, “I ha’e it.”
“And it only gets worse when you’re feeling down before it. I’m sorry you got the brunt of it, but I hope it’s taught you a lesson. As hypocritical as it is, I don’t want you drinking before you’re twenty-one, Pete. It’s not safe.”
“Don’ wanna drink ever again. ‘M sad.”
“I’m sorry, kiddo. You said it was because of a bad grade?”
“Stupid school gave us a math tes’ but was Uncle Ben’s day, y’know?”
“Did you not tell the school?”
Peter shook his head, trying his best to keep his tears at bay.
“Let me talk to your teacher, okay? I’ll get it sorted.”
“It’s okay.”
“It’s not. You don’t deserve to have to do a test on the day your… it’s not fair.”
“Thanks, Misser S’ark.”
“See? That’s how we fix this, not getting glaringly drunk and running to a graveyard, which by the way, is devastatingly heartbreaking.”
“‘M sorry.”
“No, no. Don’t be sorry. I’m sorry.”
Peter frowned, looking across at Tony. “Wha’ you sorry for?”
“I don’t know, not realising you needed me sooner? Letting you run here all by yourself? There’s plenty of things.”
“You’re bein’ silly.”
“Says the drunk one.”
Peter laughed, but suddenly the gulp of air wasn’t the only thing coming up. “Pull over!” He managed to mumble, unbuckling his seatbelt and throwing the door open before the car even came to a stop. He fell onto the sidewalk on his hands and knees, throwing up into the gutter below.
“Ugh,” he groaned through the waves of vomiting.
By the third time, Tony was there, supporting his shoulders and rubbing his back.
“That’s it, kid. Get it all up.”
Once all the alcohol and the slim amount of food had escaped, he was left dry heaving and weak at the knees.
“You’re okay, Pete. You’re alright,” he cooed, wiping the bile from his mouth with the cuff of his hoodie.
He slumped back against his mentor, all energy leaving his body with the food and drink.
“Think you’re done?”
He nodded tiredly, letting Tony manoeuvre him back into the car.
“Little more warning next time, okay?”
He nodded, letting his head lean against the window. He was exhausted. Nothing about drinking made him feel better. The first few made him believe it might, it started numbing the pain, but when their effect really started to show, it only amplified his sadness. His misery. His dark thoughts.
“What are you thinking, Kid?”
“That maybe it would have been better if I went with my parents,” he confessed, making both him and Tony flinch in shock. He wasn’t supposed to say that out loud. Where was his filter?
“What? Kid, don’t tell me you mean…”
“It would have been. Ben would still be alive. I wouldn’t be such a burden on May or you,” he cried, wishing he could just stop crying . He wished he could stop feeling so sad and pathetic. He wished the horrible thoughts would just stay away.
“You are not a burden, and who knows if Ben would be alive. I hate to say it, but nothing is guaranteed in life. You can’t think like that Peter,” Tony said sternly, gripping the wheel so tight his knuckles went white.
“He died because of me.”
Tony suddenly stopped the car again, turning to him with a pinched expression. “He didn’t. He died because an asshole shot him. That’s not on you.”
“He wouldn't have been there if I hadn’t run out,” he argued. “He’d still be alive with May and she’d be happy.”
“She is happy, so happy. You know why? Because she has you. I’m happy because I have you. We love you,” Tony said like a plea. There was desperation in his eyes and a hint of sadness in his features and Peter knew that was his fault.
“I try so hard, Misser s’ark. With everything. I’s never enough.”
“It is. Everything you do, me, May, your friends, we’re so proud. You’re doing well in school, you have great friends, you’re helping people on patrol, and you’ve even got your real internship now. All of that? That’s more than enough. Hell, every other kid in your class isn’t doing half of what you are.”
“Jus’ wanna be like you,” he whispered, feeling an unsettling wave of deja vu.
“You don’t want that, kid. I’m just a bitter and twisted old man who flies around in a tin can. You? You’re already a better man than I ever could be,” he said, putting a hand on his shoulder.
“I think y-you’re great. I wan’ that.”
“I'm glad you think so, but still not the point.”
“A-An’ you’d make a great dad. D’ya’ not want kids?”
“Why would I want another?”
Peter frowned, trying to focus his vision so he couldn’t see two of him. “Y-You have a kid?”
“Yeah, I’m looking at them.”
He gasped, fumbling in his seat to look over his shoulder to where Tony glanced but it was just a window. “I don’t…”
Tony shook his head and laughed, “I meant you, Pete. You’re my kid.”
He frowned again, letting his eyes slip closed when Tony ran a hand through his hair. “Me?”
“I’d like to think so anyways.”
“You’d like… to th’nk of me as your kid. Y-Your kid.”
“Wow, the clogs are turning slow tonight. Yes, Peter.”
“But that’s not…”
“Not?” He urged.
“Tha’s not right. I-I’m meant to think o-of you as a dad. Y-You don’t reciprocate it,” Peter tried to explain.
“And you’ve decided that, have you?”
“I think ‘bout it a lot. Y-You don’t feel the same in my head.”
Tony frowned, “let me get this straight. In these scenarios you’ve been thinking up where you think of me as your dad, I never think of you as my son?”
Peter shook his head before the movement made his vision blur.
“What am I going to do with you?”
He shrugged, watching as Tony started the car again.
“Well first, I’m getting you home where I’m going to have to clean you since there’s vomit in your hair and on your clothes. Then I’m making you drink your body weight in water before I then sit with you whilst you sleep so I can make sure you don’t choke to death on your own sick. Sound good so far?”
Peter frowned, raising a hand to his hair and running his fingers through his curls until he found… yep, dried sick. Okay, maybe Tony wasn’t wrong about that.
“And then when you wake up tomorrow morning with the hangover from hell, I’m not going to say I told you so, I’m going to sit you down and tell you why in every one of my scenarios, I think of you as my kid. We’re going to talk about all the reasons Ben wasn’t your fault and how proud we all are of you until you’re dying of mushy feelings and begging me to stop, okay?”
He nodded sluggishly. “S-Sounds good. Than’s Misser S’ark.”
“It’s Dad to you.”
Peter smiled, letting his eyes droop closed. “‘kay, Dad.”