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“No, no, you already have Thor, don’t waste a ball on another Pikachu,” MJ crunches a mini carrot right in his ear and his neck prickles. She does it because it bothers him.
“No,” Ned says from the other side of him, leaning over the laptop on the duvet. “We need a second if we’re going to evolve it. We can’t evolve Thor.”
“Just like Ash’s Pikachu…” Peter flicks the controller in his hand, throwing a pokéball at the level-13 Pikachu. “But when we will get a Thunder Stone?”
“In Celadon City, it says.”
“We were already in Celadon City,” MJ leans over Peter’s legs and turns Ned’s laptop to look.
“It’s in the department store...or in the Rock tunnel?”
“Which one is that...yesss!” Peter smiles when the pokéball on the screen clicks shut with some stars.
“The dark one. And we need to go back to Diglett’s tunnel, to learn Light Up?”
“How’d we miss that?” Peter pauses the game to join MJ and Ned reading the guide on the laptop.
“Apparently, one of Professor Oak’s assistants is there, we talk to him.”
“Mmm, because Professor Oak himself is too busy fucking your mom?”
“Gross, MJ,” Peter snickers. “Besides, isn’t it Mr. Mime that fucks your mom--”
“Hey! Language!” All three teens look up at the open door to Peter’s bedroom. “Nobody’s fucking anybody’s mom, and I want to know what’s so interesting you’ve all been ignoring FRIDAY for ten minutes.”
“Pokémon,” Peter gestures to the large flat-screen on the wall across from his bed, watching as Mr. Stark enters the large room.
“What the hell is a pokel-morn?” Mr. Stark stops at the edge of the bed, squinting at the television over the glasses he swears he only uses because Pepper makes him.
“Come on, Mr. Stark. Pokémon?” Peter gestures to the game with the controller as MJ slumps completely over his legs to click around on Ned’s laptop. Ned is staring at him slack-jawed, somehow still shocked to see Tony Stark, even though both he and MJ have spent numerous nights at the Tower since Dr. Banner prescribed very powerful lights for Peter through the rest of the winter. “Gotta catch ‘em all?”
“What?” Mr. Stark yanks his glasses off his face and looks at Peter like he’s grown an extra head. He looks back at the screen, which Peter unpauses.
“Pokémon,” Peter leads TrésHornyBoys--the name all three of them agreed on after nearly an hour of back-and-forth--right into a Ratatta. They have about eight of them, captured to get to sixty so they could get the Squirtle. “Pocket monsters. They came out in the nineties, Mr. Stark.”
“Do you remember, the nineties, Mr. Stark?” MJ asks sweetly and looks up from where she’s draped over Peter’s knees; he has to stifle a snort. He knows Mr. Stark likes MJ and won’t take offense.
“Most of it? No,” Mr. Stark keeps his eyes trained on the TV screen. “If this is any indication, I’m glad I don’t.”
“It’s fun, Mr. Stark,” Peter rolls his eyes and watches as he catches the Ratatta. They can trade it later, or sell it for candy. “You collect them, and fight them--”
“Like dog fighting?” Mr. Stark sits on the end of the large bed, still watching the screen. He folds his glasses into the pocket of his shirt.
“Ummm, no?” Peter grimaces as TrésHornyBoys enters a battle with Lass Jane. “They just faint.”
“Ah, so Kids Bop dog fighting.”
“It’s mostly about the collecting, Mr. Stark,” MJ pushes herself up into a sitting position, snagging another carrot and settling besides Peter against the headboard. “We all have problematic faves.”
“Oh, so animal hoarding,” Mr. Stark turns to look at them. Peter feels his face flush; it’s always disconcerting when Mr. Stark sees him enjoying something distinctly childish, even if he insists he needs to spend more time on childish things. “Whatever. FRIDAY has been calling for ten minutes.”
“You’re the one who kicked us out of the living room, Mr. Stark,” Peter deadpans, pulling up his Pokédex so he can switch out his line-up.
“I did not kick you out of the living room. I simply requested that video games stay relegated to your room. The background music is brain-melting,” he turns to look at the trio of teenagers. “And don’t you have homework?”
“Nah, we’re seniors now, Mr. Stark,” Ned pulls up a new page on his laptop, a map listing the different Pokémon along each route. “We have so many study halls we finish it all during the week.”
“And this is the best way you can spend your free time?” He turns back to the tv screen, watching as Peter throws a Great Ball at a level 23 Kangaskhan. “What the hell is that thing?”
“A Kangaskhan, Mr. Stark,” the Great Ball clicks shut and the Pokémon’s stats pop up on the screen. “She carries her baby around.”
“It says it’s a boy.”
“He carries his baby around.”
“So, pokel-morns have babies?”
“Some of them hatch,” MJ leans her shoulder into Peter’s. “But some have babies. Cubone wears his mother’s skull on his head.”
“That is dark, Miss Jones,” Mr. Stark grimaces but keeps watching the screen.
“And Team Rocket wants to capture him and sell the skull.”
“Oh, the game includes exotic animal trafficking, too? This is a Nintendo game? I thought they were safe for babies? Who let me buy this for you?”
“Not a baby, Mr. Stark,” Peter rolls his eyes and MJ snickers next to him.
“And we could be playing Grand Theft Auto, Mr. Stark.”
“You would play GTF, Michelle?” Mr. Stark turns to look at her incredulously.
“Yeah, I like buying hookers, then shooting the hookers and taking my money back. Makes me feel powerful.”
Peter stifles a laugh as Mr. Stark just stares at her for a second, obviously unsure how to answer that in a way that won’t sound absolutely terrible. MJ just stares back, until Mr. Stark wisely blinks and looks back at the TV screen.
“What’s that thing?” he reaches out and points to a pink shape moving in the grass.
“A Clefairy.”
“A what?”
“Cle-fairy, cle-fairy,” Ned singsongs over his laptop, briefly glancing up to the screen then diving back into his Poké-research. Mr. Stark looks at Peter with one eyebrow raised.
“That’s what he says, Mr. Stark. In the cartoon, they all say their names.”
“Oh, obviously,” once again, he turns back to the screen. “This is mind-numbing. I can’t believe I spent money on this.”
“Why are you watching us play, then?”
“So I have answers when the authorities ask me what rotted your brain.”
“Ok, Mr. Stark--oh, an Abra!”
“What?”
“An Abra, Mr. Stark,” Ned pipes up. “Psychic Pokémon.”
“You’re making shit up.”
“Nope, see?” Peter points to the screen when the stats of the Pokémon come up. “Abra, Psychic Pokémon. Strong against Poison and Fighting.”
“I hope you all put this much brain-power into school.”
“We don’t have to, Mr. Stark,” MJ reaches for another carrot from the bowl. “We all got in where we wanted to. Senioritis has set in--”
“Hey, Tones!” Peter looks to the door as Mr. Rhodes leans on the frame, his leg braces humming in Peter’s ears. “May and Pepper are waiting; they want to know what’s taking so long.”
“Cartoon dog fighting and compulsive animal hoarding,” Mr. Stark says blandly, still staring at the TV screen. “The children are enthralled.”
“You’ve been watching for twenty-minutes, Mr. Stark,” MJ crosses her arms, leaning slightly into Peter’s side.
“Pokémon?” Mr. Rhodes laughs. “Really, Peter?”
“It’s fun!” Peter yelps, probably a little too loudly. “I can’t believe you’re abusing me like this.”
“We played it as kids, Mr. Rhodes,” Ned finally looks up, then flushes bright red as it hits him that he’s explaining himself to War Machine.
“Yeah, everyone likes to regress sometimes,” MJ smiles sweetly, the way a Peter thinks a pit viper might. “Don’t you have anything from when you were young you like to do sometimes?”
“Nothing we’d tell you about,” Mr. Stark finally stands up. “Now come on, your aunt is waiting.”
“Let me just--”
“No, save it. Time to feed you monsters,” Mr. Stark snaps his fingers. “Let’s go, let’s go. The sooner we go the sooner you can come back and play.”
“Ugh, fine. To be continued, guys,” Peter saves the game and closes it.
“Maybe,” Mr. Stark says pointedly.
Peter grumbles, but gets up with Ned and Michelle, following Mr. Stark and Mr. Rhodes down the hall to where May and Pepper are waiting.
*******
While they’ve become more infrequent, occasionally Peter still has a sleepless nights; awakening at two or three in the morning in a sweat, wondering if his limbs are still solid and he’s still on earth.
The more time that passes, the easier it is to snap himself out of the panic. It’s not easy, per se, but easier, and Peter has learned that if he doesn’t immediately fall back asleep, he might as well stay awake. A glance at the clock tells him it’s 2:30...he’d be up in four hours anyway, and it’s a Saturday.
He pulls himself out of the bed, glaring at the large lamp still in his room that has yet to turn on. He’s beaten it, tonight; usually it turns on at 5am sharp, and Mr. Stark has assured him it will, until the sun comes back to replace it. Peter stumbles to the en suite bathroom, briefly brushing his teeth and splashing water on his face, if only because the mask feels sticky on his skin if he doesn’t first.
They have a deal: if it’s a weekend, and Peter wakes up in the middle of the night at the Tower, he’s allowed to put on the suit for some air. There are several stipulations; he has to use the nanotech suit, he has to let FRIDAY know, and he’s not allowed more than a block away from the Tower or both Mr. Stark and May will be notified. They were both clear they felt The Deal very generous in addition to his patrolling, and any toes out of line would render it null and void. Peter was pretty okay with it.
He can hear muffled noises coming from somewhere else in the penthouse, so he opts to just hop out the large window in his bedroom, not in the mood to explain anything to anybody.
“FRIDAY,” he calls lowly, tapping his wristband twice, welcoming the warmth of the nanotech as it covers his pajamas.
“Yes, Peter?”
“I’m going out. Unlock the window, please,” his mask encloses his face, and he feels a warm rush as the heater in the suit automatically turns on. Karen immediately chirps a hello in his ear, and FRIDAY’s voice now filters through the comms.
“Of course, Peter,” the window clicks and swings open with a *whir.* “I am required to remind you of the rules--”
“Peter will follow the rules,” Karen interrupts FRIDAY in her soothing tone. “Isn’t that right, Peter?”
“Of course, Karen,” he smiles. Sweet, loyal Karen. “I won’t be out long, FRIDAY. Don’t wake Mr. Stark up.”
“Boss is already awake, Peter. But I won’t disturb him unless necessary.”
Peter rolls his eyes. “Maybe you should so you can tell him he’s a hypocrite.”
“I’ll leave that to you, Peter,” FRIDAY’s voice is almost taunting. “Have fun.”
“Thanks. Ready, Karen?” he steps to the edge of the floor-to-ceiling window, looking down the ninety-plus floors to the street lights below. Peter can’t feel it, but he can tell the air is frigid by how crystal clear it is, not a drop of moisture in the air aside from the steam coming from the sewer grates.
“Always, Peter,” Karen replies, and he flips out the window, allowing his instincts to take over and shoot a web wherever they will. Peter lets his mind go blank as he flips and and swings around the Tower complex, mindful of the boundaries but thinking of little else. He’s doesn’t need to stay out long, just long enough to let the wind whistling against his suit calm his mind, and so after twenty minutes of flips and jumps he’s ready to come in.
Peter opts for one last swing around the Tower to take him to his bedroom window, and as he does his eyes catch the lights coming from the tall glass windows of the living room. Mr. Stark and Mr. Rhodes are both perched on the giant sofa, watching something. Well, now he knows who he heard when he first woke up. His left arm lifts to shoot a web so he can swing around before he has more than a second to think about how funny it’ll be to land on the window and scare them.
“Karen, can you patch into FRIDAY so I can have comms in the penthouse?”
“Sure thing, Peter,” Karen immediately responds. “Although I feel I must remind you and Mr. Stark and Mr. Rhodes are both over the age of forty-five…”
“Are you telling me not to scare them?”
“Hardly, Peter, I just felt like I should remind you. You are patched through.”
“Peter hears a distinct *click* as his suit connects to the system in the penthouse, and he flicks a web up to the highest edge of the landing pad, then swings out as far as he can. Their voices over his comms are low and muffled--probably because they assume he’s asleep in his bedroom--and he turns in the air, letting gravity and the strength of the web literally throw him towards the window.
Peter knows it won’t break, and his aim is perfect, and the *smack* of him hitting the glass with arms and legs askew (his fingertips alone adhering him), is drowned out by the panicked shrieks of two grown men as they jump off the couch.
“PETER!”
“JESUS CHRIST!”
“FRIDAY, OPEN--”
“Hi, Mr. Stark!” Peter says lightly cheerfully, waving as his voice filters through the speakers in the living room. He brings his legs in and presses his feet against the glass so he can turn and peer into the room. “Whatcha doing?”
“Jesus Christ, Tony,” Mr. Rhodes doubles over and exhales hard while Mr. Stark stumbles over to the window, hand pressed to his chest.
He presses something on the wall and a panel of window next to where Peter is clinging swings open. “Get in here,” he actually reaches out and grabs Peter’s wrist. “It’s 3 o’clock in the morning! What are you doing?”
“Be careful, Mr. Stark!” Peter scurries across the window immediately so he doesn’t lean out any further.
“‘Be careful?’” Mr. Stark pulls him by the arm into the open window; Peter stumbles a bit on the edge and falls against him. He immediately wraps an arm around his shoulders and pulls them both back from the open air. “You’re the one who just face-planted into the side of the building! FRIDAY, close it. What the hell were you thinking?”
“I did it to scare you, I didn’t actually hit the window, Mr. Stark. Jeez,” Peter pulls away as Mr. Stark presses his right wrist twice, causing the suit to retract.
“Definitely against the rules,” he clutches his chest again and stumbles further into the living room, towards where Mr. Rhodes is trying to control his breathing.
“Nuh uh,” Peter follows him into the room. “The rules don’t say anything about scaring you.”
“Didn’t think I had to explicitly say you can’t swing into the side of my tower for a laugh, Peter Parker,” Mr. Stark runs his hands through his hair and sinks into the oversized recliner across from the couch. “I’m gonna tell May.”
“No you’re not,” Peter laughs. He knows it’s an idle threat. “In fact, I bet in the morning you’ll try and figure out how I can scare every--hey!” He finally turns towards the large screen on the opposite wall. “Are you playing Pokémon?!”
“No!” Mr. Rhodes shakes out of his stunned stupor and lunges for the controller on he’d dropped on the floor, but Peter is faster and scoops it out of his grasp.
“Yes, you are!” He hits the X-button to bring the game-play back. “At three in the morning! And you’re already in Celadon City!” He turns to Mr. Stark, who’s still in the large chair. “After making fun of us! Mr. Stark.” Peter tries to school his face into a mockery of Mr. Stark’s Disappointed Face.
“Don’t you look at me like that,” Mr. Stark looks up at him and sniffs. “We were just seeing why you three hole yourselves up for hours imprisoning cartoon animals.”
“Righhtt…” Peter turns back to the TV. “Is that why you’re already to Celadon? AND you have a Arcanine? Where’d you get a Firestone?”
“You buy them at the department store--” Mr. Rhodes starts and immediately realizes his mistake, and Peter immediately bursts into laughter.
“Oh my god! You know what a Firestone is! This is amazing,” Peter turns back to Mr. Stark. “Ned and MJ are gonna love this.”
“Ned and Michelle will never believe you,” Mr. Stark pushes himself out of the chair and moves to tower over Peter. “I don’t see your phone anywhere, and FRI? Delete this entire evening as soon as it hits 6am.”
“Of course, Boss.”
Peter stares back at him and stands his ground. “I’ll show them your game file.”
“I’ll delete it.”
“No you won’t,” Peter guffaws, turning back to the screen. “You have an Arcanine.”
“Yeah, Tones,” Mr. Rhodes pipes up from behind them. “And our pika-whatever is a level 38. You can’t delete it.”
“Thank you, Mr. Rhodes,” Peter smiles and turns back to Mr. Stark. “You won’t delete it. You can’t delete Pokémon. You’ll won’t be able to stop thinking about all your animal babies if you do.”
“You’re a little shit, you know that?” Mr. Stark narrows his eyes.
“Yes!” Peter smiles widely, then abruptly turns around and goes to the couch, plopping down. “And I can be even shittier, so...how about I won’t tell anyone if you let me play with you?”
“You’re not touching my game,” Mr. Stark sinks down on the couch next to him and rips the controller out of his hand. “We haven’t spent the last week waiting for you to go to bed so you can ruin our game.”
“Hey, Tony, next time how about we decide on food before two in the morning,” Happy steps into the room with several bags of take-out hanging off his arms. He’s dressed more casually than Peter has ever seen him, in sweats and a hoodie. “Hey, kid.” Happy stops at the edge of the couch. “What are you doing up?”
“Uh, apparently learning all the Very Serious Adults are sneaking Pokémon games in the middle of the night?”
“Oh, please,” Happy dumps the bags on the coffee table. “I was playing this with my niece before you were born. I still have a Game Boy.”
“Game Boy? Like, from before DS’s?”
“Exactly,” Happy nods towards Mr. Stark and Mr. Rhodes, who have started moving their player through Celadon City again, the yellow Pikachu perched on his shoulder while he rides the Arcanine. “Don’t mess up any of my stats. And save before you go into any tunnels. We need napkins.”
“Oh my god, this is the best day of my life!” Peter turns back to Mr. Stark as Happy heads to the kitchen. “Next I’m gonna find out you all play Fortnight, too. Did you buy a Switch for the living room?”
“Nope, just took it from yours,” Mr. Stark squints and looks over his reader glasses. “And the fact that it’s been a week and you haven’t noticed means your aunt is right and I need to cut back.”
“No, you won’t,” Peter crosses his arms and leans back into the couch. Mr. Rhodes sits down on the other side of him, picking up the second half of the controller. “And I’m not gonna play on the nights May is actually here.”
“Sure thing, Spiderling.”
“Let me in, Tones,” he implores, and Mr. Stark shakes his controller; a second player materializes on the screen.
“Wait, that’s cheating!” Peter sits up on the couch again as Mr. Stark settles back. They don’t play with the Assisting Trainer.
“No it isn’t,” Happy comes back into the room with a pile of plates, four bottles, and a handful of napkins. Peter smiles when he sees he’s brought a plate and a Pepsi for him. “It’s an available strategy.”
“Cheating,” Peter takes the plate that Happy hands him and leans over to open the bags.
“You want to stay here? Don’t mock our winning strategy,” Mr. Stark leans over to grab one of the fries from the container Peter opened. “And you have to supply my fries.”
“Fine,” Peter settles back into the couch and shoves a fry in his mouth. He pulls his legs up to criss-cross them, sitting his plate in his lap.
“Tones, switch our line up,” Mr. Rhodes leans across the table and snags one of the beers Happy brought out from the kitchen. “We need to bring our Drowzee and Kadabra stats up.”
“Yeah,” Happy chimes in from his chair, mouth full of burger. “And it’s strong against Poison, which Erika has. Also move in Evee and Jigglypuff. We’ll need them in Lavender Town.”
“Oh my god!” Peter squeals, throwing his head back. “Happy just said ‘Jigglypuff! And he knows who Erika is!”
“I told you, you little punk: niece. Used to watch the cartoon with her. Took her to see the movies...I think she even still has her MewTwo card.”
“Best. Day. Ever. This is amazing.”
“Night, you mean,” Mr. Stark flicks his eyes to him. “Why are you up?”
“Couldn’t sleep,” Peter shrugs, and holds out some fries. Mr. Stark leans over and he shoves them directly into his mouth. “Decided to go for a swing, scare some old men, and now am being gifted with the greatest gift of my life. Sometimes being bad pays off.”
“Mmmm,” Mr. Stark doesn’t take his eyes off the screen. “Anything you need to talk about?”
“Not really,” Peter reaches forward and snags his bottle of Pepsi from the table. Mr. Stark only buys Mexican Pepsi, in glass bottles with Spanish words, made with real sugar. It tastes so much better. “Just antsy, and it’s a Saturday, so…” he shrugs and leans back into the cushions.
“You’re taking a nap tomorrow,” Mr. Stark reaches out and lays a hand on Peter’s knee, holding it still; Peter hadn’t even realized he started bouncing it.
“Or we could play Pokémon all day.”
“No-pe,” Mr. Stark pops the P. “This never sees the light of day.”
“Jesus, Tones, you make it sound so salacious.”
“I’m not ashamed to play during the day. I’ll play with you, Spider-kid.”
“Thank you, Happy,” Peter smirks up at Mr. Stark, who just smacks him in the shoulder. “We can find all the stones and start evolving things.”
“Alright, battle time, Tones, pay attention!”
“I am paying attention, platypus,” Mr. Stark throws his arm around Peter’s shoulders. “Besides, it’s not exactly difficult to kill a child’s pet and then rob them blind.”
“You’re not killing them, Mr. Stark,” Peter side-eyes him. “They faint.”
“If you believe that, I guess I shouldn’t tell you about Santa, then,” he teases, lifting his hand to ruffle Peter’s messy bed-slash-suit head.
“It’s not gonna be easy if you don’t get Ivysaur out of there. I told you, Drowzee and Kadabra!”
“Happy, you should play with us,” Peter shifts so Mr. Stark can have better access to tug the suit-knots out of his hair. “We’ll listen to your advice.”
“Nuh uh,” Happy pops the recliner up and back. “Your friends are more annoying than you.”
“Not possible,” Mr. Stark gives his hair one last tussle then drops his hand to his shoulder. “You can stay up and play tomorrow night if you sleep all afternoon.”
“Deal. But you can’t play during the week when I have school.”
“Um, no. That’s one of the great things about being an adult. I can stay up and do whatever I want.”
“What would Pepper say?”
“That she’s glad I’m not indulging in any far worse maladaptive behaviors. Now be quiet and eat your fries, or better yet,” Mr. Stark selects Psybeam for his Drowzee; the Weeping Bell doesn’t stand a chance. “Fall asleep.”
“Hrmph,” Peter grunts, but he sets his plate on the coffee table and leans into Mr. Stark’s side.
“Yeah, that’s what I thought,” Mr. Stark rests his chin on the top of Peter’s head and earns a smirk from Mr. Rhodes. “Go to sleep.”
“Will you buy me a Pokéball controller?” Peter tries to stifle a yawn. Dammit. He is feeling tired now.
“Oh, now you’ll ask me for shit?”
“I’ll buy you one, Peter,” Mr. Rhodes reaches over and pats his knee.
“Thanks, Mr. Rhodes,” Peter yawns again; Mr. Stark tightens his arm around his shoulders. “We should play Zelda, next. I won’t tell anyone.”
“Haven’t you beaten that like, four times?”
“Yeah,” Peter shivers and wraps his arms around himself. Mr. Rhodes leans over the arm of the couch to grab a throw from the basket of blankets under the end table. He tosses it at Peter, his eyes never leaving the screen. “But like, there’s different challenges. There’s a no map challenge, a no fast travel challenge, a three-heart challenge, an arrow-only challenge, an Eventide challenge--”
“I have no idea what those words mean. Hap?”
“Don’t look at me,” Happy shrugs in his chair. “Beth never played Zelda.”
“I’ll teach you, Happy.”
“Great,” Happy rolls his eyes, mocking lifting his beer in a toast.
“Tell you what, you go to sleep, and we can play whatever you want.”
“That’s coercion, Mr. Stark.”
“Sure is. Sleeeep.”
Peter doesn’t respond, and after a few minutes and a few more Celadon City Gym battles, his eyes start to feel more and more heavy. He fights it for as long as he can, but the blanket is soft and the gentle whir of Mr. Stark’s reactor next to his ear is more soothing than it should be. He closes his eyes, thinking he’ll just rest them for a bit, absolutely not willing to miss Iron Man and War Machine playing Pokémon, while Happy Freaking Hogan yells actual advice at them.
When Peter opens his eyes again, sunlight--and light from that damn lamp--are both streaming through his bedroom. He curses under his breath; of course he fell asleep, and of course Mr. Stark carried him to his room like a child. He rolls over to look at the vintage Star Wars alarm clock on the nightstand; there’s a bright green sticky over the face.
Sleep as much as you want, not doing anything particularly exciting in the lab. Aunt says hi. Eat something. Living room, 10pm. ~T