Chapter Text
*5 WEEKS LATER*
After what felt like years, Peters therapy session was finally over. He sat in the waiting room as the Therapist talked to Steve for a few minutes. "-Thank you. -yes- -ok... you too- Bye-" Steve walked out of the office. Peter looked up. "Let's go." He said, and Peter followed. They got in the car and drove back to Stark Tower in silence. When the my arrived, Steve was the first to speak. "I have to run out and get something. Bucky should be back in a few hours." Peter started exiting the car. "And Peter. Don't you dare do anything stupid." The boy rolled his eyes in response. "I mean it son." And with that, he drove away. Peter made his way through he tower, and punt his room. He flopped on the bed in a huff. Looking over at the door, he slammed it shut as hard as he could, despite direct orders from his therapist to keep it open. He decided he'd read until his father got home. Or Bucky. Which ever came first. He picked up his favourite comic "X-23" and began to read.
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Steve was mad. No not mad. Furious. How could Peter keep doing this to him. How much more therapy would he need? 4 times a week for 5 weeks straight seemed excessive to Steve. He pulled out his flask from the glove compartment and chugged. "Ah" That's better. He finally reached his favourite bar, and decided on only a short stay this time. He parked the car and started walking. Halfway to the door he felt a pang in his stomach. It threw him off gaurd. What was that for? He started thinking of how Tony used to drink when things got rough, and felt disgusted with himself. But shorty got over it and entered the bar.
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*5:27 AM*
Peter woke suddenly. How long had he been sleeping for? Was his dad home yet? He had to tell him something very important about the night Tony died. He looked at his clock, 5:27am. Too early. But then again, Steve always got up at 5am anyway. He walked over to the doorway. Someone had opened his door. Probably Steve. The lights were still off. The boy rolled his eyes in annoyance and went back to bed.
When he woke again, it was 7:30. He went downstairs to the kitchen. Clint was busy making eggs when he saw Peter coming. "Morning, Pete." He smiled at the boy. He looked rough, in need of some food and a shower, in Clints opinion. "Hungry?" He offered. "Peter sat down at the bar. "Yeah." He smiled greatfully at Clint. After a few moments he asked, "Have you seen Pops and Bucky?" Clint frowned. "Bucky had to go on an unexpected mission yesterday, and as for your Pops... I haven't seen him..." Jaut then Natasha walked in. "Morning you two." She kissed Peter on the head and walked over to Clint. "Hey, a moment?" She gestured at him to follow her. "But eggs!" He protested. "We'll only be a minute. Calm down." She rolled her eyes and they walked into the next room. "Look, Steve didn't come home last night." "Yeah I can see that Nat." She have him a light sway over the head. "I've tracked him down to a bar downy town..." They exchanged nervous-sorrowful glances. "We can't just...." Clint interrupted. "-We'll take care of Peter again until Steve figures his shit out." "But that could be weeks!" "And that's Steves problem! He won't let anyone help him and quit frankly he's stopped trying to help Peter as well." Natasha gave a questioning look. "Do you know who's been taking AND paying for Peters therapy. Not Steve. Me and Bucky. And we are glad to do so, but it's heart breaking that Steve would just give up on him like that." "He what!? I'm gonna kill him when he comes back!" Clint pulled her into a hug. Help me by helping Peter. Alright?" She smiled up at him. "Of course." They walked back into the kitchen. Peter was now attending to the egg. Clint cursed under his breath. "No! Not Omletty!" Natasha and Peter both gave him a strange look. "Omletty?" "What, can a man not name his food?" They all laughed.
But the laughter didn't last. Two weeks had gone by with no word from Steve, and Peter started slipping deep into his depression. His father was dead and it was partly his fault. Not only that, but Pops seemed as good as dead, concidering Peter never saw him anymore. And when he did it was rare he was in a good mood. The other Avengers were out of the house, and Peter took this as an opportunity to close his door. Dumb rule anyhow. He sighed, and walked over to his bed, pondering on the night of Tony's death. If only he would've gone out that night. If only he hadn't obeyed. If only he could tell them he wa Spider Man. But how could he now? Now that the one time Spider Man didn't show, his dad was killed? No way was he going to admit that out loud to his Pops or anyone else. But he so wanted to. Secrets hurt, and he hated himself for them. He walked over to his 'special box' and sighed. He locked the door, and headed for the first aid kit. This was going to be a long night.