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“Of course,” Peter mumbled to himself as he sprinted down the hill after the rolling bus that was gaining speed and heading straight towards a store that was likely full of people, “of course this would happen on the day I was planning to go straight to Mr. Stark’s.”
Peter was glad he had chosen to put on the Spider-Man suit to swing over to Mr. Stark’s since Happy was busy and couldn’t pick him up, but he hadn't been planning to do any of his Spider-Man duties that evening, and maybe the universe was punishing him for that. He lined up alongside the bus, and jumped, sticking himself to it and climbing up on top.
With a quick wish that the streetlight they were about to pass was strong, Peter shot a web at the bus, and another at the streetlight.
“Come on, Lighty, don't let me down!” Peter shouted as his web stuck and he felt the strain in his muscles as he was pulled in two opposing directions. “You’re tough and faithful, I can tell, come on Lighty.”
“Anthropomorphism is the attribution of human traits, emotions, or intentions to non-human entities. It is considered to be an innate tendency of human psychology.” Karen said, butting in.
“Are you quoting Wikipedia again?” Peter asked.
“Maybe.” Karen responded.
“Why did I alter your programming to give me random Wikipedia facts again?” Peter wondered aloud as he was lifted off the roof of the bus thanks to the tension in his webs, although he was relieved to note that the bus was slowing dramatically and Lighty was holding steady.
“You were upset that your patrols were hindering your two in the morning ‘Wiki binges’,” Karen said, “therefore I am to randomly spit relevant facts at you to help you maintain your knowledge for Decathlon. Speaking of which; did you know the American States Academic Decathlon was founded in 1968?”
“No, Karen, I didn't.” Peter admitted. “I should have though, right? I mean Academic Decathlon is like the one thing I still do outside school and being Spider-Man. I should know more about it.”
“I don't think you’re generally asked Decathlon specific questions, so you should be good.” Karen said reassuringly.
“Thanks, Karen, you’re the best,” Peter said, pleased to note that the bus had finally stopped, he raised his voice so the people inside could hear, “alright guys, you’re good, you can come out now!”
There was no movement from inside, Peter couldn't bite back the frustrated sigh that escaped, “seriously, it’s as safe as it’s ever going to be to come out.”
Finally, someone moved, and the doors were forced open. Peter smiled reassuringly at them.
“They can’t see you; you’re wearing a mask.” Karen said.
“Shut up, Karen,” Peter mumbled, “I’m trying to be nice.”
“Try harder.”
“Ouch, that one hurt me right in my blood pumper.” Peter muttered as the lady climbed out of the bus, soon to be followed by the rest of the passengers.
“Blood pumper is your heart?” Karen asked.
“You bet it is.”
“In the Hebrew Bible, the word for heart, lev, is used in these meanings, as the seat of emotion, the mind, and referring to the anatomical organ. It is also connected in function and symbolism to the stomach.” Karen told him.
“Did you really clarify my meaning just to shoot facts at me?” Peter asked.
“I’m only here to help.” Karen confirmed.
“If my hands weren't full, I’d wipe away a fake tear of pride.” Peter admitted.
“The bus is empty, you should fix it down, so it doesn't continue its descent.” Karen informed him.
“Yeah, I’m getting there.”
Peter dug his heels into the unforgiving tarmac road and let go of the web that was attached to Lighty with a mental apology. He then made quick work of shooting a series of webs off that connected the bus to the ground and prevented it from going anywhere.
All in all, the most difficult part of the ordeal had been getting the damn passengers off the bus, but even then he could be forgiving, they must have been terrified and sure that they were about to get seriously injured in a crash.
“Yeah, Spider-Man!” One person shouted, setting off the other in a mass of cheers and shouts of thanks.
Peter was suddenly extremely glad for his mask as it meant that no one could see the bright red hue that painted its way across his cheeks and down his neck. He wasn't good with this kind of attention; he wished the ground would just swallow him up.
“Hey man,” a teenager with short blonde hair and a t-shirt that said, ‘girl power’ said, “thanks for saving us and everything, here.”
She held out a… cupcake, complete with blue swirled icing and little iridescent sprinkles.
“They’re mermaid cupcakes,” she said, “or at least that’s what google called them, I just wanted to say thanks and everything, y’know, for not letting us die?”
“Oh, uh, thanks to you too!” Peter said, forgetting that his grin was hidden once again. “I appreciate this, and my friend would totally love your shirt.”
“Tell her she can have it on her bedroom floor if she loves it that much.” The girl said with a smirk as she brushed past him and walked off, leaving Peter and his cupcake standing silenced in the middle of the street.
“K-Karen?” He asked quietly. “What just happened?”
“It seems as though you got your crush a date who wasn't you,” Karen said, “that’s not how crushes are meant to work, do you want me to download a crash course on dating from the internet?”
“Uh, no, but thanks,” Peter said as he held his cupcake carefully in one hand and used the other to swing away from the webbed up bus, “Mr. Stark would never let me live that down.”
“Speaking of Mr. Stark,” Karen said, “shouldn't you be on your way to the workshop?”
“Yeah,” Peter admitted as he sat on the edge of a building, “but first, I’m gonna enjoy this cupcake before it gets squished or something.”
“Alright, I’ll send a message to Mr. Stark alerting him to the delay.” Karen said.
“You’re not going to tell him why though, right?” Peter checked.
Karen was silent and that said everything, well, actually, what said everything was the text that Peter then received from Mr. Stark that consisted solely of a cupcake emoji followed by a thumbs-up emoji. Peter regretted teaching him how to use emojis.
He rolled his mask up over his nose and bit into the velvety cake, savouring every delicious bite.
“Karen,” Peter mumbled, crumbs flying from his mouth as he spoke with it full, “thiff if goof cay’th.”
“I didn't catch that.”
Peter sighed and swallowed, “this is a good cake.”
“In their oldest forms, cakes were modifications of bread,” Karen informed him.
“Huh, that’s fun,” Peter muttered as he licked all the icing off the top, “I wonder what that girl’s name was.”
“Do you want me to scan the databases?” Karen asked.
“Isn't that a little creepy?” Peter wondered. “Tracking her name and address and then stalking her home just to say thanks for the cupcake.”
“It may appear to her as an abuse of your Spider-Man powers.” Karen agreed.
“More like an abuse of Mr. Stark’s technology.” Peter muttered, before scrunching the cupcake case up in his hand and rolling it into a ball. He threw it with an accuracy only Spider-Man could muster, and it landed in an open bin on the street below. “Alright, K, let’s head out.”
“Displaying quickest route, ETA fifteen minutes.” Karen said.
“Perfect, can you let Mr. Stark know we’re on our way?” Peter requested as he launched himself off the building and felt his body fall through the air.
He let out a whoop of exhilaration and shot a web at the last moment, feeling his Spidey-Sense shout out at him in protest as his toes skimmed the pavement with only millimetres to spare.
“Cutting it a little fine there,” Karen commented idly as he swung on, “maybe you should be more careful.”
“I’m fine,” Peter said, ignoring her concerns as he continued on his way, “besides, what’s life without a little risk?”
“One may suggest that you have a risky lifestyle being Spider-Man.” Karen said to him.
Peter scoffed to himself as he continued on his merry way, swinging, and soaring; feeling the rollercoaster swooping feeling in his stomach as he moved. People on the ground looked up as he passed, a few of them even pulled out their phones to record his movements - that would be all over twitter later.
Karen was quiet until he was minutes away from Mr. Stark’s, perhaps she had been sulking, she occasionally did that - Peter was truly fortunate to have such a responsive A.I. in his suit, but damn did she know how to hold a petty grudge.
“Your blood pressure appears to be raised.” She informed him.
“How raised?” Peter asked.
“149/95.”
“Right,” Peter said with a small nod, “yeah, that’s… uh, bad? I think? What is my blood pressure normally?”
“Your blood pressure usually varies between 110 and 125 systolic.” Karen informed him.
“That’s… cool.” Peter mumbled, not understanding what she meant and realising that he didn't actually care. “Hey, can you ask F.R.I.D.A.Y. to open a window?”
“You know Mr. Stark doesn't like it when you enter through windows,” Karen informed him, “why don’t you just head down and use the door, you know he registered your biometrics for a reason.”
“Karen, you’re a buzzkill.” Peter decided but followed her instructions and went against his window plan and crawled down the building, occasionally pausing to wave cheerfully through the glass at the confused people inside.
“You’re acting odd.” Karen informed him.
“Me?” Peter questioned. “You’re the one who’s being a massive butthead today Karen.”
“Hmm.”
Her hum of disapproval was confusing, but Peter found himself far too interested in the rainbows that seemed to form when the sunlight bounced off the windows, how had he not noticed that before? He ran his hand through the colours slowly, watching as the dissipated and reformed around him.
“Woah, this is so cool.” Peter breathed as he continued to move his hand back and forth through the mind-blowing rainbows.
“Peter, you have been waving at the window for four minutes now.” Karen told him. “In the 13th century BC, the earliest windows were unglazed openings in a roof to admit light during the day.”
“Huh, really?” He asked in confusion, ignoring her fact as it hadn't felt like that long to him, he looked through the rainbow lights to see that the room inside the glass was thankfully empty - at least he hadn't spent the last four minutes waving at some of Mr. Stark’s confused employees. He would never have lived that one down.
“Mr. Stark is waiting for you in the lobby.” Karen informed him quietly.
“Hey, Karen, you sound off,” Peter commented as he did his best not to think about the rainbows and continued to crawl down the building until finally his feet were on the ground, “also why is Mr. Stark meeting me here?”
“I’m an A.I.,” Karen informed him, “it is not possible for me to be off - I do not have a best before date.”
“Was that a joke, K?” Peter asked with a grin beneath the mask.
“Unfortunately.” Karen said. “Now, Mr. Stark is waiting by the back elevators.”
“But why?” Peter asked, confusion marring his voice. “Mr. Stark has never met me downstairs, even the first few times I came here, he had Happy come down and guide me up.”
“I may have suggested he come and get you.” Karen admitted quietly, almost as though she had been hoping that he would miss her words - that was never going to happen though, not when her voice was inside his mask.
“Karen!” He protested, before glancing to the side where a security guard was standing with a suspicious expression and a pair of handcuffs in hand.
Except… Peter moved slightly closer, were the handcuffs changing in size? The loopy bits where a person’s hands would go looked as though they were getting bigger and smaller with each passing second - almost as if they were pulsing.
He reached a finger out so that he could poke the air in the middle, to see if it felt different to his Spider-Senses with the impossible movement of the handcuffs, but a clearing of someone’s throat made him pause.
“Spidey?” The security guard asked. “What the hell are you doing?”
“Oh, I uh-” Peter broke off, unsure of how to tell the man that his handcuffs were defying the laws of physics. Metal should not have been able to do such a thing.
“He’s doing the opposite of what he’s meant to.” Another voice cut in, smooth and confident - green. “Spidey, get your ass in that elevator before I make Pepper come down and get you.”
“Hey!” Peter said happily, not noticing the threatening look Mr. Stark was giving the security guard - a clear warning to never speak of the occasion. “Mr. Stark, I was coming here to see you, but there was a bus you see.”
“A bus.” Mr. Stark said, picking a random word from Peter’s ramble to pretend he was paying attention as he led Peter over to the elevators.
“Yeah! A huge bus, and it was rolling and rolling and rolling down towards this shop,” Peter continued energetically, “but the thing is there were people in the bus and in the shop, so of course I had to intervene.”
“Yeah.” Mr. Stark said, as the doors smoothly slid open and Peter was guided inside by the shoulder.
“Yeah! So then I stopped the bus with a thwip over here and a thwip over there,” Peter didn't realise that he had accidentally shot out webs in his excitement, causing his arms to be stuck in a crossed over position, “and the bus actually stopped! And then everyone got out, and I stuck the bus to the ground so it couldn't move, and then I was given a mermaid cupcake which was great!”
“Mermaids?” Mr. Stark asked with a frown.
“Not real ones,” Peter mumbled before a look of horror took over his face, “oh God, do you think I accidentally ate a real mermaid?”
“Kid, what?” Mr. Stark asked.
Peter was already on another train of thought however, and he had resorted to tugging at his arms that were stuck, “hey! I’ve been restrained,” he whined.
“Let go of the webs, Underoos.” Mr. Stark said blankly.
Peter did as he was told and felt his range of movement return, “oh.”
Mr. Stark let out a sigh and guided him out of the elevator and down the stairs to his workshop.
“Hey, how did we get here?” Peter asked suddenly, spinning around out of Mr. Stark’s grip to look around. “I don't think we should be in here.”
“Sit down, Peter,” Mr. Stark said tiredly, pointing to one of the stools, “just, go and sit.”
“Sir, yes, Sir!” Peter said cheerfully, forgetting all of his protests at not being in the workshop.
“F.R.I.D.A.Y. can you get me a visual on his numbers please?” Mr. Stark said, and Peter watched as holographic numbers appeared alongside him.
“Woah,” he muttered, swiping a hand through the number that apparently told Mr. Stark his pulse was 130bpm, “Mr. Stark, look! The numbers are floating.”
Peter stuck his head through them, as though he would be able to see the insides, but unfortunately he couldn't and he rocked back on his stool, listening to the clattering noise the legs made against the hard ground as he did so.
“Peter can you sit still for a moment?” Mr. Stark asked with a snap in his voice.
“Mr. Stark, your words earlier were green, but now they’re orange.” Peter informed him factually.
“What is this? A traffic light system you’ve invented?” Mr. Stark asked. “How much shit is Peter in today?”
“Uh, no, but do you think we should use that system?” Peter wondered with happy curiosity.
“If we did, you’d be a red,” Mr. Stark told him, “kid, what the fuck were you thinking?”
“Red word.” Peter mumbled, swiping at the haze that filled the air with the swear word. It was like a red mist had emitted from Mr. Stark. Weird.
“Peter, come on, pay attention.” Mr. Stark demanded. “Actually, first, get changed into these.”
Mr. Stark held out some clothes - clothes for Peter, his brain supplied, and he took them.
“Get changed.” Peter repeated.
“Yes.”
“Ok, I can do that, that’s a thing I’ve been doing for a long time now,” Peter said, “not as long as you, what do you have now? Sixty years’ experience dressing yourself? You’d think that your style would have improved, not aged alongside you.”
“F.R.I.D.A.Y., please give me a reason not to kill him?” Mr. Stark begged his A.I.
“It would seem that Mr. Parker is high on an illicit substance.” F.R.I.D.A.Y. commented.
“I said a reason not to kill him.” Mr. Stark continued as he watched Peter slap at his chest, hitting everything except the spider emblem that would free him.
“Ah, well, I have reviewed his suit’s footage that is stored under the baby monitory protocol and it would seem that the only time he could have ingested any drugs would have been when he took that cupcake from the girl off the bus.” F.R.I.D.A.Y. commented.
“Great,” Mr. Stark said, reaching forward and pressing the emblem for Peter, the suit instantly loosened making Peter grin happily up at his mentor.
“Hey, look, Mr. Stark!” He said with a beaming smile. “I did it!”
“Great stuff, Underoos.” Mr. Stark said to him. “Now get that mask off and put your normal clothes on.”
Peter slid his mask off, marvelling at the change in how things looked, “woah!”
“What’s wrong?” Mr. Stark asked instantly.
“The world is so… much.” Peter said breathlessly. “I know the mask is meant to stop the input from being overwhelming, but wow, I was missing out on all these colours.”
“Uh, on second thought,” Mr. Stark said, “maybe you should keep the mask on?”
“No!” Peter said quickly. “I’ve just found the colours, and you aren’t taking them away from me.”
“Ok, ok,” Mr. Stark said quickly, holding up his hands to convey that he wasn't going to try anything, “right then, what do you remember?”
“Water.” Peter decided.
“Water?” Mr. Stark asked. “Your suit is dry, were you in water? Did you drink water?”
“No, I want water.” Peter said, looking around as though it would magically appear. “My mouth is dry.”
He started making weird sucking noises by suctioning his tongue to the roof of his mouth before pulling it down to make an audible example of how dry his mouth felt.
“Kid, you don't need to do that.” Mr. Stark told him.
“But-” Peter did it once more, “-every time I do it the air ripples.”
“It’s all in your head, Kiddo, you’re the only one seeing these things.” Mr. Stark told him.
“Huh.” Peter mumbled thinking about that for a brief moment before his attention was snapped away by something else. “Ben!”
“Kid, come on, what are you doing?” Mr. Stark asked tiredly.
“Peter is my name and Spider-Manning is my game,” his face was suddenly inches away from Mr. Stark’s and staring at him with a deadly serious expression, “with great power comes great responsibility.”
“Alright, settle down.” Mr. Stark said, pushing him back down onto the stool. “You have the power right now to cause me a heart attack, so think about that.”
“No,” Peter said quickly, his face starting to crumple, “I don't want to cause you pain again Ben.”
“Kid, I’m not Ben,” Mr. Stark said with a pain in his heart, “I’m not him.”
“Yes, you are.” Peter was sure of it; he could see those familiar blue eyes that had crinkled around the edges when he laughed.
“No, kid, it’s me, it’s Tony.”
“Mr. Stark?” Peter asked, blinking owlishly at the man in front of him and watching as the blonde hair disappeared to be replaced with Mr. Stark’s carefully styled brunette hair, threaded with streaks of silver that Mr. Stark would often say had been caused by Peter.
“Yeah, Underoos, it’s just me.” Mr. Stark said with a sad smile.
“But I thought-” Peter broke off, watching as the words he spoke sent blue out into the universe.
“I know, Kiddo, and that’s alright.” Mr. Stark promised, pressing a glass of water into Peter’s hands. “Here, drink this up and try to focus, if you can.”
“Right,” Peter mumbled, twitching anxiously with the sheer effort of trying to keep himself still. He downed the glass of water in seconds and went to put it on a table beside him, only to find himself jolting in shock as a loud splintering crash filled the air.
“Kid, what?”
“I…” Peter stared at the empty space beside himself, “I could have sworn there was a table…”
“You’re having hallucinations.” Mr. Stark told him.
“But… what?” Peter asked in confusion. “No, there was a table here, someone must have moved it.”
Peter glanced around as though he was looking for someone else in the room, finding no one his eyes narrowed on Mr. Stark.
“What’s that look for?”
“It was you.” Peter accused.
“Who smashed your glass?” Mr. Stark asked him. “I think you’re getting mixed up there kiddo, why would I want to create a mess for myself to clean up?”
“I know it was.” peter said. “You can't lie to me anymore, there’s only you and me in here, so it had to be you.”
“Peter, you’re being paranoid.” Mr. stark said quietly to him, holding out his hands as though he were planning to fight or restrain Peter.
“No,” Peter snapped pushing himself off the stool and ignoring the sharp pain in his feet as he backed away from Mr. Stark over the broken glass, “you’re just trying to make me feel paranoid, but I’m not, I know you broke my glass - I just don't know why?”
“Kid, do you want me to leave?” Mr. Stark asked. “I can get Happy to come and sit with you?”
“No!” Peter snapped. “Happy works for you, he’ll be working on your side. You’re red Mr. Stark so that means Happy is red.”
“Kiddo, please explain your colours to me.” Mr. Stark pleaded.
“No.” Peter said.
“Fine, then if you don’t trust me or Happy, who do you want to sit with you?” Mr. Stark asked him.
“No one.” Peter said. “I want to be on my own. I’m Spider-Man and I’m red and blue.”
“Kid, you walked through broken glass and now you’re leaving bloody footprints everywhere, you’re high on an illicit substance, and you can't tell what’s real and what’s not,” Mr. Stark said to him, “give me one good reason why I would leave you alone.”
“Oh,” Peter said as a thought suddenly occurred to him, “you’re not real.”
“Kid, I am the most real thing you’ve seen so far.” Mr. Stark promised. “How else would you have gotten that glass of water?”
Peter’s eyes narrowed, and he prepared to argue his point with Mr. Stark before he sighed and shook his head. The earlier giddiness seemed to be seeping back in, removing the terrifying paranoia that had briefly swept through him.
“Hey, Mr. Stark?” Peter asked brightly. “Can we go get food?”
“Uh,” Mr. Stark stared cautiously at him, “can I look at your feet first?”
“Sure!” Peter said cheerfully, jumping on the workbench and waving his feet in the air, noticing with glee how the movement sent little red drops of confetti floating over the ground.
“You’ve changed your tune.” Mr. Stark commented.
“Was I singing?” Peter asked.
“No… you were just, you know what? Never mind.” Mr. Stark decided.
“Alright.” Peter said, agreeing easily.
He watched in awe as Mr. Stark patched up his feet, even though he wasn't sure why? It wasn't like he’d hurt them. Maybe Mr. Stark didn't like the confetti that was coming from them, that was possible, even if it was rude - Peter was making confetti for his house, but it wasn't good enough apparently.
“Hey, Mr. Stark?” Peter asked as he was guided to the kitchen, he seemed to be limping with the steps he was taking but he wasn't sure why, it wasn't like anything was hurting. “You’re so cool, y’know?”
“I’m cool?” Mr. Stark asked with a laugh. “Kid, just a few minutes ago you were calling me old.”
“Yeah, but you’re cool in an old guy way,” Peter said, as though that was a complement, “like Ben was, and like Ned’s dad used to be.”
“This isn't as flattering as you think Kid.”
“Sorry to interrupt, Sir,” F.R.I.D.A.Y. said, “but it appears that Mr. Parker was spiked with LSD.”
“LSD?” Mr. Stark asked raising an eyebrow. “This is not going to be a fun day.”
“It appears that it was an accidental spiking,” F.R.I.D.A.Y. said, “I tracked the person who gave Mr. Parker the cupcakes and apparently a few minutes ago she tweeted: @shanionD: uh, I accidentally gave Spider-Man an LSD cake so can someone tell his parents or something to go collect him. #sorryspidey.”
“Jokes on her,” Peter said with a wide grin, “my parents are dead.”
“How do you do such a thing by accident?” Mr. Stark asked with a growl in his voice.
“Uh, maybe she was like ‘here’s a cake Peter’ and then Peter was like ‘yummy good cake lady’ and the lady got home and was like ‘oh no that was my drug cake’?” Peter suggested. “Also, I was gonna track her down to thank her for the cake, but me ‘n Karen decided it was an abuse of your technology.”
“I’m no longer taking suggestions from you, Kid.” Mr. Stark said.
That was harsh, but Peter had to admit that he was a little more focused on the spiralling colours in the room and the strange, almost rainforest-esque sounds that were filtering through the opened windows, he probably wasn't giving Mr. Stark’s problem his full attention.
“You could put him to bed, so he sleeps it off.” F.R.I.D.A.Y. suggested.
Peter jumped on the wall and crawled along it to the window to peer out at the rainforest outside, only to pull back quickly as a tiger stalked its way past, growling quietly as it prowled for food.
“I don't think he’s in any state to sleep right now.” Mr. Stark commented as he watched Peter cower on the wall, why wasn't he hiding too? Did he not see the tiger?
“You could sedate him?” F.R.I.D.A.Y. said.
“Oh, yeah,” Mr. Stark scoffed, “drug the already drugged kid, that’s going to go down an absolute treat.”
“Call Miss. Potts?”
“I don't think she’d want to deal with this either.” Mr. Stark said with a sigh, before walking over to Peter - still not caring that there was a tiger on the other side of the glass.
“Mr. Stark!” Peter hissed. “Would you be careful, there’s a tiger out there and it sounds hungry!”
“Kid we’re on the 76th floor,” Mr. Stark reminded him, “I don't think any tiger is going to be able to jump that high.”
Peter blinked, once, twice, and then watched as the rainforest melted away in a mess of green and brown - like paints being washed away down the sink during art class.
“Bye bye Mr. Tiger.” Peter mumbled as orange and black joined the green paint.
“Yeah, bye,” Mr. Stark muttered, before wrapping his arms and Peter’s middle and muttering, “now unstick yourself.”
“Alright.”
Peter did as he was told and was pulled from the wall by Mr. Stark who set him down on one of the fancy breakfast stools at the kitchen island.
“Now stay there.” Mr. Stark said. “You’re hungry remember.”
“Hungry.” Peter agreed idly as he poked at the countertop.
It was moving, the dark grey speckled granite was writhing and moving as though it was alive, he tried to catch it in its place, but every time he poked at it, the granite moved around his fingers. He couldn't catch it - what if it writhed away? What would Mr. Stark do then? He would have no countertop left.
“Uh, Mr. Stark?” Peter asked quietly, refusing to take his eyes away from the countertop in case it was gone when he looked back.
“Yeah, Underoos?”
“Your counter is trying to escape,” Peter muttered, poking at it again, “it’s like there are these tiny little ants trying to carry it off.”
“Uh huh.”
“Why aren’t you more concerned?” Peter asked with a frown directed at the ants.
“I’ll tell you all about LSD tomorrow when I know you’ll remember it.” Mr. Stark promised, as though that was an answer. “Listen, Kid, I’m really proud that you came here, even when your thinking was all skewed and you were starting to feel the influence of the drugs.
“I know that Karen probably had a lot to do with it, but you made it here and that’s not nothing. I don't blame you for anything that’s happened, it wasn't your fault.”
“That’s cool, but Mr. Stark, your counter is escaping.” Peter told him with wide eyes.
“Don’t worry about that, Kid, if it wants to go then there’s no keeping it here.” Mr. Stark told him, and somehow, in Peter’s drug addled brain, that made sense.
He sat back on the stool, rocking slightly until Mr. Stark flashed him an admonishing glance that felt purple and placed a bowl of yoghurt and fruit on the table in front of him.
“I wanted chocolate.” Peter admitted as he lifted the spoon and shovelled some of the yoghurt in.
“And I wanted a quiet night in the workshop.” Mr. Stark said. “Sometimes, we just have to suck it up and accept we can’t always get what we want.”
“Alrighty,” Peter said agreeing easily, “Mr. Stark?”
“Yeah, Kid?”
“Thank you.” Peter said honestly.
“What for?” Mr. Stark asked, looking at him with confused eyes.
“For letting your countertop escape, I really didn’t want to try and catch it all.”