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He doesn't go to bed thinking about it, but Peter knows it's a lot like a virus these days – go to bed feeling fine, wake up feeling like shit. Peter wakes up and it hits him like a ball bat to the gut.
It's been a year since Ben died.
For some reason he just keeps feeling infected. He retches in the bathroom, the swell of memory bursting out of him, threatening to swallow him up. It's Saturday, so May is home, and she hears him from outside the bathroom, her nails making a soft tap-tap-tap on the wood of the door.
“Pete? You okay?”
“Just...bad burrito, I think. I'm okay, May. Promise.”
“You sure?”
“Y-yeah. Yeah, I am.”
He can see the face she's making, pursed lips and hooded eyes behind big glasses. She leaves him, and Peter flushes the toilet, throws up one more time, and goes back to bed.
He wakes up and May is sifting through some photos in a box, sitting in his desk chair.
“Hey sleepy.”
“Time is it?”
“Almost eleven. You okay?” Peter shrugs. May brings the box to the end of his bed, showing him a photo. “Look. That's you and Ben on your tenth birthday.”
“That was a good one.”
She puts the photo back into the box and moves closer. “Hey, I had an idea.”
“Okay.”
“I know that...that we can be sad, and we should. But maybe we try to make this just...a really good day. I was thinking we do, like, a best of day. We go to Ben's favorite spots, we eat his favorite stuff. We ride the Cyclone a few times.” She worries her bottom lip. “What do you say?”
Peter looks at her, and for a second, he just wants to be sick again.
“That old theatre you guys liked it playing Return of the Jedi?”
“You don't like Star Wars,” Peter says, kicking off his blankets.
“That's not the point, Pete.” And she leans over and kisses his forehead.
They see Return of the Jedi, have frozen custard at the pier, and ride the Cyclone seven times. Ben knew the guy who operates it, so he doesn't charge them more than once. Peter figures this will push him over the edge, back into this bizarre illness he seems to have contracted, but...he's okay. Honestly, he is. The day keeps going, his life keeps moving, and he's with the only other person who could have loved Ben more than he did. It's alright.
“Tony wants to see you,” May says suddenly. They're at Lindy's, having Ben's favorite burger and tots. Peter's stomach turns. “I...told him what today was. He called earlier this week, wanted to know if I'd be alright with him coming by later on.”
“...Okay.”
“He's in the city tonight. I thought maybe...maybe you'd want to see him. Talk to him.”
“I don't.”
“Peter, please.” May reaches over, covers his hand with hers. “He's trying. He wants to be more than just Iron Man to you. He's...your father.”
“Biologically,” Peter adds. “Fine. I'll see him.”
“It'll be good for both of you.”
Peter shrugs. “Whatever you think is best.”
May presses her lips together.
Peter excuses himself and loses his lunch in the bathroom.
Truth time: Peter hasn't seen or spoken to Tony in two months. Not since his big reveal. He's not sure why he can't really look at him, why he isn't up to taking his phone calls. He knows it's coming from a good place – all of Peter's father figures are dead. It's...a sad lot he's pulled. And Tony was already getting there, even before they all figured it out.
Maybe it's just because he's almost sixteen, and he feels like being contrary. Who knows. But the thought of even saying Ben's name around Tony make's Peter's arms go limp and flu chills spread all over.
It sucks.
But he says yes, and Happy picks him up at seven from the apartment and takes him to this really fancy place that Peter's only ever passed on the bus before. Never even imagined going inside.
It's just Tony, no Pepper and even Happy goes back to the car. Peter sits across from him, watching him mess with his phone for a few minutes before clearing his throat.
“Oh. There you are.”
“Here I am.”
“Hey, Paolo?” A waiter stops next to their table. “Get me a glass of the '65 Fairway and the kid'll take a...”
“Sprite.”
“A sprite.” The waiter nods and shuffles off. “So. How was your day?”
“Not terrible.”
“May, uh, told me. About today.” He looks at his place. “What'd you guys do?”
“Best of Ben,” Peter says quietly. “His favorite stuff.”
“What was that?”
“Star Wars. Burgers. Roller coasters. Basic uncle stuff.”
Tony smiles. “Seems like a good time to me.”
“Yeah, it...it was.” The waiter comes back with Peter's Sprite, and he sucks it down, hoping it'll settle his stomach before he orders an eighty dollar plate of pasta. He stares at the menu for a second before looking back up. “Actually. Actually it fucking sucked.”
Tony chokes on his wine, wiping his mouth with his sleeve. “Jesus, kid. You can't just drop the f-bombs around me. It throws me off my game.”
“Yeah, well, welcome to all of this bullshit. I guess.”
“What, your life?”
“Maybe.” Peter flicks the side of his glass. He's suddenly so angry, so freaking mad that he could flip this table over. It'd only take his pinky finger to do it. Tony seems to notice, so he stands abruptly.
“Let's go walking instead.”
“I'm fine here.”
“No, you're not.” He moves from the table, so Peter follows because what else is he supposed to do. “I've got an idea. Why don't we do a best of Peter, right now.”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean, you know this part of the city. What would you eat here, right now, if you could. I'm buying,” he adds.
Peter swallows. He feels sick again, but Tony's being...earnest, he figures, so he slides his hands in his pockets, looks left and right, then takes off across the street.
They get Peter's favorite tacos and horchata from a stand by the park, then Peter climbs a tree. Tony looks up at him from the ground. “I can't do that, Parker.”
“Sure you can, old man.”
“I'm not joking.” Peter sighs and reaches down to give him a hand, yanking him up into the lower branches. “Much better.” Tony licks grease from his thumb. “So this is, what, you're thing? Your special place?”
“I just like these tacos. And I like being in the trees. No one sees you up there.”
“You don't want to be seen.”
“Not always.” He shoves the rest of his taco into his mouth. “I don't have this, like, celebrity complex, okay? I don't always want to be seen, constantly. I just...wanted to do the right thing. And if people saw, then great. Maybe that would make the shitty people want to do bad things less often.”
“It doesn't work like that.”
“Yeah,” Peter mutters. “I'm figuring that out.”
Tony nods. Then: “Tell me about Ben.”
“Why?”
“Today was supposed to be about him. I thought you could tell me something. When's the last time you told someone something about your uncle that didn't have to do with him dying, huh?”
Peter looks at the ground.
A while, if he's honest.
An entire year, if he's exact.
He leans against the body of the tree, holding onto a branch for support. He closes his eyes
“Ben was...the best. He was my dad's brother so...so I guess that means we weren't...related.” That's something he hasn't said out loud. “Doesn't matter, I guess. He was still the coolest. Anything May didn't think I should see at the movies, Ben took me. She thought it was too early last year for me to start learning to drive, but he figured it was just right. We built computers together, we went to Mets games together.” He takes a long sip of his horchata. “That place was his favorite taco stand. So it eventually became my favorite, too.”
“He was a lawyer.”
“Yeah. Not a fancy one. Didn't make the big bucks, but he did make a splash I guess.”
“He was on the news a lot.”
“Yeah, he was always taking on these cases for the little guy against these shady corporations, making 'em hand out their pensions and apologize for stealing. Honestly he thought those were the best ones. When he could make them say they were sorry on national TV.” Peter plays with his straw for a minute. “I guess that's why he...why someone...yeah. You know. That.”
Tony looks at him. “Have you talked to anyone about this?”
“I was supposed to talk to the school counselor, but I never did. The spider stuff was happening right around then. I just...distracted myself with it, I guess. Making the old suit, doing things my way. This past year it's all I've...all I've done. I've barely thought about that night, didn't think about the fight.”
“Fight.”
“Me and Ben got...into it, that night. Just about me sneaking out and my bad attitude. Stuff he has every right to be pissed about. Then he had to go meet someone and I...well he was...” Peter breathes. “Anyway. It happened.”
“You know it's not your fault, right?”
“Yeah, sure.”
“Peter.” Tony puts a hand on the back of his neck. “That wasn't your fault.”
Their eyes meet, and it's electric for a second, like Peter is recognizing this guy for the first time, and suddenly seeing that small part of himself that is half Tony's, the part that does make him Tony's son, somehow. It's a glint of it, and maybe he's imagining it, but it's there, for sure. Peter swallows.
“Yeah. Yeah, I know that.”
“Okay.” Tony nods. “Alright. As long as you, like, get that. No need to beat yourself up over something you couldn't have done anything about.”
“Right.” Peter braces himself on the branch of the tree. “Not a thing.”
Tony walks Peter to the apartment building, and they stand in awkward silence for a minute before Peter finally says: “Ben used to say this thing, about the crappy guys he'd fight in court.”
“What was that?”
“He used to say that the only reason anyone gets picked on is because of power. And when you have power, you're lucky, because you're sometimes the only one who does, and you can use it to do anything. So with, you know, with power comes responsibility. With great power, comes great responsibility, is what he said.”
Tony nods. “That's pretty solid.”
“Ben was solid.”
Tony smiles, reaching out to put a hand on Peter's shoulder. “I bet he was.”
And Peter doesn't ask for it, he's not expecting it, but –
This time it's a hug, a real honest to God hug. Peter leans into it, breathes deep the scent of this person who is his father, who is trying so hard to dig into whatever part of his life he can. He smells like some kind of booze, always, and something ready to ignite. But it's always warm, and Peter lets himself just...have this.
He lets himself have a dad, for just a second.
And then it all folds back.
“Alright, alright.” He pushes back. “I'm not upset,” he mutters. “I'm gonna be okay.”
“I know.” Tony slides his hands into his pockets. “Just want to be sure.”
“Yeah, I'm good.”
Tony nods. “I think I need to see you a little more often. I want...I want this to be something we work at together. I can have Happy come get you, or you can catch a plane somewhere around here. Whatever works for you. Bring May upstate with you, show her the place for real this time.”
“That...sounds pretty good, actually.”
“And listen, I'm working on...making amends. Trying to get things back to the way they were. Well, to some semblance of it. Steve's been emailing me pretty much nonstop, so I guess if I start replying then I'm dedicated to the cause, or whatever.”
“You should do that.”
“You think so?”
Peter nods. “Yeah. And I'll...do better. At this.” He gestures between them.
“That's all I can ask for.” Tony starts heading down the stairs as Peter turns to unlock the door. He holds the key in his hand and thinks about what he's been wanting for a while, something he's imagined himself doing for weeks now. He turns and bounds down the steps, grabbing Tony before he gets in the car.
“Thanks dad.”
It freezes them both in their tracks as Peter throws his arms around him, and Tony tries to sort out what just happened, presumably.
They pull back after a minute or two, and Peter says quietly, “That sounds weird.”
“Yeah, let's save that one for later.”
Peter nods. “Agreed. Sentiment still stands though,” he adds. “I...thanks. For talking to me. I haven't told anyone about Ben in a long time. It feels good to say his name. Especially today.”
“I'm glad.” Tony clasps his shoulder before getting into the car. “I'll call you. For real.”
“Yeah, stop going through my aunt. You're a taken man.”
“Ask Pepper and she'll tell you it's fake, but we're getting married in June.”
Peter smiles. “Sounds nice.”
“Doesn't it though?” He closes his door. “Home, Happy,” he says, and waves goodbye as they head down the road.
“How was dinner?”
“Good. We got Ben's favorite tacos.”
“That's nice.” May kisses his cheek and Peter can tell she's been crying, but he doesn't mention it. She's making a lemon cake with strawberry icing, another Ben Parker favorite, and listening to his tape collection. It's not much – but they've both been burying themselves in this terrible, terrible grief pile, and Peter feels like, for the first time, someone is reaching in to pull them out.
Maybe it's Tony. Maybe it's not.
Doesn't matter.
Point is Peter feels better right now than he has all year, and that's saying something.
He goes to bed feeling good about tomorrow, and good about today, and honestly – that's all he can ask for.