Work Text:
Eight year old Peter Parker awakes with a whimper and a gasp.
His body is soaked with sweat under his fluffy pajama pants and cotton tee, his curls damp and sticking to his forehead. He heaves unsteady breaths, eyes not daring to close long enough to relive his horrible nightmare.
He clicks his lamp on and throws his covers off as he tries to get as much fresh air as he can. Well, fresh stale apartment air.
When his heart is finally leveled to a reasonable speed, he pads to his door and begins to head to his Uncle Ben and Aunt May’s room.
However, his body goes rigid when he pulls open his door.
Ben stands at the counter eating Santa’s cookies while May is putting presents under the tree.
“What are you doing?” Peter asks, voice small.
The two freeze, looking up like deer in headlights.
“Why are you eating Santa’s cookies?” Peter asks, lip wobbling. “Those… we made those for Santa a-and you’re… you’re eating them?”
The cookie drops from Ben’s hand. “Peter, this isn’t what it looks like.”
“It looks like you’re eating the cookies we made for Santa!” Peter took a deep breath. “Is Santa not coming? Was I… was I on the naughty list?”
Ben rushes to Peter. “No no no. You weren’t on the naughty list.”
Peter’s eyes well with tears. “How would you know? Only Santa can see the list.”
“Because I know you,” Ben insists. “I know you, and I know you would never be on the naughty list.”
“Then why…” he trails off. “Does Santa just not like me?”
“Of course he—” Ben turns to May with wide eyes and panic.
“Ben,” she says, resigned.
Ben sighs. “C’mon, bud. Let’s sit down.”
May shuffles to the kitchen and starts to prepare Peter a mug of hot cocoa.
Peter sniffles and rubs at his eyes with his sleeves. “What did I do wrong?”
“You didn’t do anything wrong!” Ben says. “You’re not in any trouble, bud. I promise.”
“Then what… why…”
Ben squeezes his eyes shut and blurts out “Santa isn’t real.”
“Ben,” May hisses from the kitchen.
‘What?’ Ben mouths to her.
She gives him a look that can only be interpreted as ‘could you have done that any worse?’
Peter’s jaw drops. “No. No, he is. Santa’s real. You said he’s real. He comes every year. He… he’s Santa.” His voice wavers. “Why would you lie to me?”
Ben’s heart drops. “Oh, Peter.”
“I… you’re… I never lie to you. I would never…” He swallows heavily. “I tell you… everything. And I… do you not trust me? Did you… why would you lie to me?”
Ben tries to pull Peter into a hug but Peter pushes away.
“Why would you lie to me?!” Tears are falling rapidly down his cheeks, faster than he can wipe away.
“We just wanted you to experience Christmas with the magic and joy that Christmas should be.”
“But it wasn’t real. None of it was real.”
Ben lets out a long breath. “No.” He stammers. “But! Not all of it was… some of it was real. Most of it was real. The memories we made together. That’s all that matters.”
“So you… you are the ones who bring the presents? And you’re the ones we make the cookies for?”
Ben nods slowly. “Yeah. That’s right.”
“Why wouldn’t you want me to know that? That’s… that’s amazing.”
Ben startles back, surprised.
“When I thought it was Santa… he had all these elves making the presents. And he was… I mean,” he huffs in frustration, “I don’t know Santa. He’s… he was super cool, I guess. He brought me presents. But it… it was you. It was always you. And that’s… that’s so much more special. You took the time to find the presents I asked for and sometimes presents I didn’t think to ask for like, like, like the yummy chocolate coins you put into my stocking. And you, and you, and you get these presents and you decorate the tree and you make cookies with me and you spend Christmas with me and that’s… that’s better than any made up Santa could be.
“I don’t care about Santa. Not as much as I care about you. And you… you’ve been lying to me about some made up guy who was taking the credit for things that you did for me. And all these years I haven’t been able to thank you for it all. And that makes me feel really… icky. Because I… you already do so many nice things for me and you’ve been doing even more nice things for me without me even knowing it and I’ve been thinking some random guy from the North Pole was doing it.”
“It’s okay,” Ben says.
“It’s not! Because you deserve to know how much I love everything. And how much it means to me that you get me these presents. Knowing they’re from you makes them a million bajillion times more special.”
Ben smiles softly, eyes misty. “We love you so much, Peter.”
“Well, I love you too.” Peter curls into Ben’s side, wrapping his arms around his torso.
“Would you like some cocoa?” May asks. “Just a little teacup.”
Peter attacks her with a hug, careful to not make her spill anything. “I love you, Aunt May.”
She smiles tearily. “I love you too.”
And so, the Parkers sat on their couch sipping at hot cocoa, dimly illuminated by their Christmas tree until Peter fell back in a dream-filled slumber.