Chapter Text
Peter was lost in space.
He soared through one galaxy or another at the speed of light, or at least, that’s the way it felt. Just his mind was lost and swimming in the stars, and he preferred it that way, preferred shutting his brain off and watching Star Wars movies over and over again to having fully operational thoughts. Those were the kind that led to fully operational breakdowns. He was done with those, done with crying and freaking out over something completely beyond his control.
He was fine. Clearly. Never better. As long as he could sit there on the floor in the theater room, back pressed up against one of the chairs and head tilted slightly up, staring at the giant screen that stretched across the wall. Peter was fine. As long as he never had to look away from the movie and back at real life.
Unfortunately real life planted himself between the screen and Peter. Real life was rattling off, talking frantic and fast, saying things that were very clever and snarky he was sure, but they were also things Peter couldn’t be bothered listening to. He shifted his head, trying to see around the interruption that would not go away.
“Hey,” said Mr. Stark. He snapped his fingers in front of Peter’s face, and took a step to the side, once again blocking his view of the movie. “Dumbo. Listen up.”
Peter craned his neck, attempting to see around him.
“Fri shut it off,” said Mr. Stark.
The screen went black, and Peter was forced to look up at Mr. Stark.
“How long has it been since you’ve seen daylight?” he asked. “What the hell is all this trash doing lying around on the floor?”
Admittedly he had been sort of a slob. His throw blanket was the only object around that wasn’t a piece of trash. He sat in an ocean of candy bar wrappers, empty chip bags and empty soda cans. Those were the most pathetic. He’d been looking for something else, something with a bit more kick, but quickly learned every drop of alcohol was under lock and key.
Just one time. He got drunk and almost died that one time and every adult in his life acted like he was a budding alcoholic.
He supposed he deserved it, but it didn’t mean he wanted to be treated like someone who had zero self-control.
His thoughts drifted to May, and he wondered how she would have reacted to the crab melt incident. He only allowed it for a few seconds, before remembering he wasn’t supposed to be thinking about her. His eyes flickered back to the screen, but it was black, so instead they found Mr. Stark.
His expression didn’t match his annoyed and harsh tone. It was softer and stung Peter worse than if he would have been glaring at him. He didn’t need pity.
“Alright, let’s go. Up. Get up,” said Mr. Stark. Peter continued to stare at him. “It’s not a suggestion.”
“Mr. Stark…”
“Nope. Don’t wanna hear your whining.”
Before Peter could stop it from happening, before he could grab the chair and secure himself to his favorite spot on the floor, he was yanked up to his feet by his arm. He wobbled, at first, and almost fell backwards, but Mr. Stark steadied him. He turned him around by his shoulders, towards the door, and marched him out of the theater.
They walked through the living room, with all its sleek furniture and extravagance, and out to the balcony. Fresh air hit his face, blew through his hair, and carried the scent of salt water. Down below, waves crashed against the shore.
Retreating to Malibu for Peter’s spring break had been, of course, Mr. Stark’s idea. Time away would do him some good, or at least that’s what he was told. Peter wasn’t so sure. He didn’t see how being abandoned in California was any different than being abandoned in New York. The sunshine, he guessed, as if nice weather and sunlight made everything okay.
He stood by the railing with Mr. Stark’s arm slung over his back and his hand resting on his shoulder. The sky was orange, and the sun was setting. The last rays of light were bouncing off the water, racing from the sun to where they stood overlooking the ocean.
It was all very beautiful and picturesque. Peter just didn’t care.
“See? Fresh air, water, sunsets,” said Mr. Stark. “Outside is good.”
“Great. Can I go back inside now?”
Mr. Stark’s disappointment wasn’t expressed out loud, but Peter felt him sigh. He knew he was worried. Peter couldn’t find the energy to care about that, either.
“Yeah. You can go inside and take a shower,” said Mr. Stark. “Then we’ll go for a walk.”
Peter backed away and ducked out from under Mr. Stark’s arm. Suddenly he was very aware that he couldn’t remember the last time he showered. It had been back in New York, probably, because he definitely didn’t remember showering yet at the Malibu house.
“A walk?”
“Yeah. Exercise. I figure you need it since Spidey’s been playing hookey and you’ve been wasting away in front of the TV.”
Looking at Mr. Stark, he knew there was no fighting it, or at least, no amount of protest that would do any good. Mr. Stark wasn’t someone who was used to not having his way, and Peter was getting used to his personal preferences getting shoved aside.
“Fine.”
He dragged his feet inside and all the way to his bedroom. Somehow, he felt more miserable than when he woke up this morning.
There was something sort of embarrassing and unnatural about Mr. Stark’s level of involvement in his life. That Iron Man was ordering him to take a shower and forcing him to exercise. He wasn’t used to it from any adult. Not anymore, and that was the most uncomfortable truth that Mr. Stark’s hovering uncovered, something he hadn’t realized before. May’s involvement, their interacting, faded long before she made the decision to remove herself from his life together.
It’d been such a slow decline, it’d been easy to miss, but that didn’t make Peter feel any less stupid for not seeing it as it was happening.
By the time he was done taking a shower and getting dressed, it was dark outside.
His hair was still soaking wet as he walked just one pace behind Mr. Stark. They kept to the part of the sand that stayed consistently damp thanks to the rising and falling tide, and Peter felt relaxed. The rushing sound of water, the occasional wave washing over his feet, and the moon, hung high in the night sky.
It was better. He felt better. He didn’t know he needed this, but Mr. Stark did and cared enough to put up with him long enough to force him into it. He started to feel less embarrassed and more grateful by Mr. Stark’s insistent involvement.
Almost.
About the same time he started to come to this realization, Mr. Stark stopped walking and stuck his foot out. There was no time to react. Peter’s foot caught on his, and before he could correct himself and balance, Mr. Stark pushed him into the ocean, straight into an incoming wave. The salt water engulfed him completely as he fell backwards into the sand, and when the ride receded, when he sat up, he was drenched.
“Hey!” said Peter, spitting out salt water as he yelled. Mr. Stark grinned. “What was that for?”
He shrugged. “You looked a little tired. Thought a swim might wake you up. You’re welcome.”
Peter stayed planted in the water, his fingers digging into the sand, and glared. It didn’t have the desired effect. Mr. Stark broke into laughter, and that hadn’t exactly been what Peter had been aiming for.
“Is this how you try to intimidate all those criminals you chase down as Spider-Man? You look like a drown, angry kitten.” Mr. Stark waded deeper into the ocean, closer to Peter, and stopped when the water came up half way between his feet and his knees.
Peter splashed around in the water. “I wonder if there’s any crabs in here…”
All humor vanished from Mr. Stark’s face, and the look he gave made Peter immediately backtrack. He didn’t understand how Mr. Stark could display so much venom with one look, and his glares possessed none.
“I’m joking,” added Peter, quickly.
“That’s not funny."
He turned and started to walk away, leaving Peter shivering in the water, but he couldn’t have that. It wasn’t fair. He leapt and lunged forward, catapulting himself into the back of Mr. Stark’s legs and bringing him down into water.
It turned into a splashing, wrestling match, but it was one that didn’t last very long. Peter was easily dragged back to shallow water and pinned against the sand by Mr. Stark’s forearm. He grinned in victory for less than a second, before his triumphant look turned into one of utter confusion.
“Pete,” he said. His head hovered above him, and the concern written there was evident even in the darkness. “How am I stronger than you right now?”
“Umm,” said Peter. He tried to remove Mr. Stark’s arm from his chest, used both his hands, but gave up quickly. He couldn’t do it. “I sort of… lost my powers.”
Mr. Stark’s frown was immediate. “That’s why you haven’t been going out as Spider-Man.”
“Yeah.”
That and his complete lack of interest. There was no point. Every time he caught a criminal, there was another one or two who got away. He was just so tired, too tired, to be dealing with that every night, but he didn’t mention this extra reason to Mr. Stark. He was worried enough already.
“Kid, these are the types of things I need you to tell me.”
“Doesn’t this count?”
“No it doesn’t count,” he snapped, with an annoyed edge that made Peter brace for the yelling he was sure that was about to happen, but instead, Mr. Stark made a pained face, then sighed. “I’m not mad.”
He sounded mad, though, but it was hard to tell if his anger was directed at Peter, or at himself. Peter thought it was probably the latter. He could understand that, at least. Anger directed inwardly. Peter’s been angry with himself for quite awhile now. He fell short. He wasn’t good enough to keep any of his family around him, and one day, he was sure he would drive Mr. Stark away, too.
“I just wish you felt comfortable talking to me when something’s wrong.”
The tide came up, then fell away, and Peter shifted under Mr. Stark’s arm. He was too afraid to say out loud what he was thinking, that they weren’t there yet, that they were practically strangers and Peter didn’t want to bother him with this sort of stuff.
“Are you going to let me up now?”
“I’m thinking about it.”
“What?”
“When else I am going to have the opportunity to make Spider-Man say uncle? Soon you’ll have your Spidey strength back and I’ll –“
“-Mr. Stark –“ said Peter, as he went back to attempting to pry his arm off his chest. He hated not having his strength. Then it hit him. “Wait, you think I’ll get my powers back?”
“Of course you will,” said Mr. Stark. He removed his arm, and helped Peter sit up. “It’s part of your DNA. It’s who you are. They’ll come back.”
His confidence was comforting and gave him vision again. It’d been a long time since Peter had even pictured himself putting the suit back on, pictured himself swinging from building to building or delivering justice. After May told him they weren’t going to be a family anymore, everything became… dull, and a little numb.
But maybe he could be Spider-Man again, one day, when they got back to New York. Maybe one day it would have the same meaning to him that it used to.
“Come on,” said Mr. Stark. He stood up and offered Peter a hand. “Let’s go back.”
He accepted the hand up and was back on his feet in seconds. This time when they walked on the beach, Peter made sure he wasn’t between Mr. Stark and the ocean. The man couldn’t be trusted, at least when it came to simple things like not pushing into the waves. In other ways, Peter supposed Mr. Stark could be trusted the most, even if he wasn’t completely ready to always be totally honest with him.
Once they got back home, Peter retreated to the bathroom connected to his bedroom, where he washed the salt from his hair and got into warm, dry clothes. He crawled into his bed, buried himself under the covers, and got lost in YouTube instead of space. He’d been locked out of the theater, but his phone, at least, wasn’t something Mr. Stark could take away from him.