Chapter Text
When they said Peter had to go out on a mission, he wasn’t expecting.. This.
Peter stared into a bar, he didn't care for bars. They stunk like alcohol, nowadays everyone did to be fair. He just sighed and walked in, and sat next to the guy, Colby something . Steve was right, Colby’s name was generic. He looked at the guy behind the bar, he had to slip something into Colby’s drink. Colby was a bad guy, he’d- he deserved this? Peter stared at behind the bar, before going into the back and changing. He looked at the current bartender.
“Hey man, Boss said i take the rest of this shift,”
The guy shrugged and left, it was safe to assume he had made all he needed in tips tonight. Peter walked around and swished some drink down his throat. It was a shot of vodka, it went down. He cringed and almost gagged. He didn't, but the thought of killing a man didn't disappear. Peter made a slight face before walking up to Colby,
“What are you looking for tonight sir, something strong and loud or something sweet and sugary?”
Peter smiled, it was fake as he spoke. He was hoping the guy said something about cinnamon, it helped.
Colby spoke soon after. “Something Strong but sweet y’know? let it be your choice,”
Colby’s voice was deep, something about it screamed he was in charge. It Didn’t Scare Peter one bit.
He smiled and nodded. May had shown him how to mix drinks, (Albeit it was lemonade and sugar packets and not alcohol, but how hard could it be, really.) Peter smiled widely and nodded, grabbing a swig of some random vodka? and tossing it in. He hummed and started mixing it, explaining. “I’ll throw in a bit of cherry, and some pineapple syrup, some,” Peter looked at the bottle, sammys. “Sammys, and then a swish of beer just to really make it hit that flavour,” Peter turned around, and crushed some pill powder into the drink. He then swished some beer in.
Peter turned around, shaking it. He wasn’t sure how the hell the chunks dissolved, but he was thankful. He poured it into a glass and smiled. “All yours, sir.” Peter smiled, and walked to the back. He grabbed his- he didn't have a phone. How was he meant to contact Steve? Carrier pigeon? god. He just had to run and tell the man. Peter stood, and booked it. Sorry bar. Peter ran to the hotel. And barged open. Steve and Bucky were just awkwardly staring at him. Peter Grumbled. “got him?” Peter huffed and paced.
He killed a man. He was dead. Peter killed a man. He paced. The guy was bad though? Nope doesn’t help his moral conscience at all. He groaned and stuck his face into his hands. This sucked, he hated this. Steve dealt with the rest. But how was Peter supposed to cope? He groaned and shoved his face into his hands again. He hated this. He was supposed to be a good guy. He watched Bucky turn on the tv.
Rouges. He was a Rouge Avenger, so was Natasha Romanoff? Oh, Black Widow, Steve and Bucky. Peter grumbled and slammed his face against the pillow. How had they even found out his secret identity? He really did hide it well! He just sat quietly and watched. He was worried. What if when he got back all his friends and family hated him? What if this, what if that. There was so much.
Flash was a name that dinged in his head. The guy loved Spider-man, but hated Peter Parker. How was He coping with this, Ned knew, Mr Harrington was probably freaking out. Peter snorted a bit at that one. Michelle probably knew. She was. Creepy. May was probably, freaking out, how were the avengers reacting to him being confirmed as a kid. Peter felt the gash in his head. If he was a kid that wouldn’t be there. Ok rephrase that question, how were the avengers reacting to him being a minor. Honestly? Who knew? He could make assumptions though. King T’challa was probably unbothered maybe? Who knows. They all probably didn’t care one bit. They didn’t know him, why should they care?
Peter groaned. He stretched out across the bed. He should probably get some shut eye or something like that.
Peter didn’t sleep.
Everytime he tried, all he could see was the man from his dreams.
The man who held him.
Who begged for the child to stay.
Who tried his hardest to keep the child.
People screaming.
And if it wasnt that dream?
Planes.
Crashing, flames erupting.
His Mom and Dad Sacrificing their lives for him.
For their lab experiment.
Peter knew his parents never truly loved him. They couldn’t. That was something May explained to him. That his parents never felt empathy.
Ben explained to him how his Dad used to. But then something, an accident happened. His Dad, no. Not his dad, the man wasn’t around long enough for that. Richard. Richard couldn’t feel emotions, period. His mother could. But she didn't love Peter. The name sat cruelly on his tongue.
Peter.
That name didn’t feel right most days. Like it wasn’t his to own. But it was, he couldn’t decrypt that feeling. Not like it even fully mattered, it was his name. Once, he responded to another name.
James.
It wasn’t his name. Maybe one of his parents friends.
Another time someone screamed Grant. His head whipped around, but it was a mother chasing her child. Peter couldn’t decrypt that feeling of want every time he heard that name. There was, something deep inside his body that wanted to be sung a lullaby. Or be held.
That was another thing. A Russian lullaby, deeply embedded in his brain.
He was lucky if he remembered past the 8th line. May, Richard, nor his mother spoke Russian. Ben did, he was a cop and learnt it. But Peter never heard Ben sing it. A deeper voice did, one that held onto so much love but also so much fear. He couldn’t bother to try to say it. He remembered it, but it’d only hurt more if he did think about the lyrics. Peter closed his eyes a bit. He was going to sleep.