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There wasn’t much in the fridge, as per usual, forcing Peter to venture out and get a sub at Delmars. It was chilly outside, but he didn’t mind. Peter preferred to be away from home these days, anyway.
He stepped into the apartment, closing the door behind him. Setting his sub on the kitchen counter, he was greeted by May sitting at the dining room table. “Hey, Aunt May.”
“Have you seen this place, Peter?” She asked. No hello, or hi, or ‘How was your day, sweetie?’ not anymore. These days, pet names and inquiries from May would send him running. Much like her tone would, just now. “This place… It’s a pigsty, Peter. You need to pick up after yourself.”
He froze, none of the dishes were his, and he had cleaned a few days ago, taken out the trash, etc. This fight was a common one in the Parker household. A fight he didn’t feel like having. “Aunt May, I just straightened up before work today--”
“Then what is all of this, Peter? The nasty dishes in the sink, the cereal on the counter. The living room is a wreck ,” She stood, turning to face him. He kept his head down, eyes trained on the counter. “I work my ass off, Peter. I work my ass off to feed you, house you, I’m the reason you’re able to go to college! And all I ask for is for you to clean up after yourself!”
He wanted to bite back, say something. He wanted to yell, tell her that the dishes were hers from last week, that he vacuumed before class today, that he fed her cat because she always forgot, and that all the takeout in the living room was hers. “Peter, you’re being selfish! This is just disrespectful, and inconsiderate-- I work eight-hour days, I pay for your phone bill, and I pay the rent, which is not cheap! All I am asking for is some fucking respect!” May was screaming at him, and all he did was stand there and take it.
How could he respond? She wasn't wrong, she did do all those things.
“Peter, look at this place! It’s a mess! How do you live like this? One of these days I’m just going to throw everything out.” She continued on, but all Peter could do was stand there.
“I’m going to bed, I have class in the morning,” he said quietly, turning around and walking down the hall. She just nodded at him, “That’s what I thought, nothing to say for yourself.” May had muttered as he shut his bedroom door. Peter could hear her moving, talking to herself, throwing this around. “Fucking selfish.”
He stared numbly at his bed, unmade. Thoughts of sleep breezed by, a deep yearning just to close his eyes and forget, but he couldn’t stay here. He was shaking, tears threatening to spill. He wasn’t even a kid anymore, and yet May just knew how to make him feel small.
Before he knows it, his suit is on, and he’s climbing out his window.
The chill awakens that deep ache in his bones. For the first time since she stepped foot in the apartment, he feels human. Peter isn’t sure where to go from here, this place is his home, after all. Ned is out of town, MJ is at her dads’ and he was never his biggest fan. He gazes up at the sky, and in all that darkness, he feels insignificant.
He takes his time swinging around New York City, stopping a mugging, he finds a lost dog which he swiftly returns to his owner. She wasn’t too happy, being woken near midnight, but when they saw what he had-- He wanted to be loved like that. Peter watched as the owner, a middle-aged woman named Patrice, fell to her knees to engulf the fluffy dog in a hug. He felt his chest get tight, ‘fucking stupid, getting jealous of a dog’. A sad reality, but it was his nonetheless. “Thank you, Spider-Man.” Patrice had ushered the dog inside, but not before asking for a hug. It was something he didn’t know he needed.
Peter was at the tower for the second time that day. He was on the balcony, mask off. It would be the first time he’d seen Tony in a few weeks. ‘ Avoidance, blasted.’
After a moment of standing in the cold, 93 stories high, the doors opened for him. Tony was waiting on the other side. “Hey, kid.” Stepping into the tower, it was warm. It smelled clean, with lingering tones of earl grey and lavender. Tony and Pepper, respectively. He was immediately embraced, something he could melt into, something he did melt into. “Hi, Mr. Stark.”
They found themselves on the couch, Peter was hugging his knees, staring at the hot chocolate Tony brought him. He could see the heat rolling off of it. “Do you want to change? I have some of the clothes you left.”
“No, I’m fine. Thank you.” He said quietly. He felt Tony sit down on the couch, a cushion between them. Tony shifted, facing Peter. “How’ve you been, Pete?” Peter pondered that question. He hadn’t been bad, not really. He doesn’t really have an answer, not one that would satisfy either of them.
“She’s changed since he died,” Is all he can supply. “May. May has changed a lot since Uncle Ben died. More now than when I was younger, I guess. Really just these last two years. She’s just…” The words die on his tongue. His heart stutters, yet he ignores it.
“She’s different?” Tony offers, but it isn’t right.
“She’s mean,” Peter says confidently, a correction. “Aunt May is mean, Mr. Stark. I mean, it’s nothing I can’t handle. I should be used to it by now, I’m not even sure why I’m telling you this.”
Tony takes a moment, he takes Peter in. The 20-year-old is distant, he looks tired. His voice is calm, but his body is rigid. “You can talk to me, kid. It’s what I’m here for.”
“I’m just not sure what she wants. I guess. She calls me selfish, which to a degree I am-- everyone is, on some level. I clean the apartment, I clean our bathroom, I feed her cat. I’ve offered to help with the bills, but she refuses and then holds it against me.” His hips ache, so he lets his legs fall, tailor-fashioned. Peter leans back, taking in a deep breath. “I just don’t know what she wants from me.”
“I’m not sure she knows what she wants from you either,” Tony starts, “but this doesn’t seem like the… best living situation for you, Peter.”
“You think I don’t know that? But what else am I supposed to do, Mr. Stark?” Peter feels tense at Tony’s comment, his brow furrowing. “Ned offered to get a place with me, but he’s at the dorms right now-- not like we’d ever be able to afford an apartment, and MJ is staying at home while she goes to school, saving her money. Selfishly, I really, really wish she weren’t. Not that we’re ready to move in together, or anything. But if Ned, MJ, and I all moved into a two-bedroom we might be able to make it. Maybe.” He’s rambling now, he knows it. He’s out of breath by the time he finishes his tangent. Going through all his options out loud, not just in his own mind, makes his heart shrink. Peter feels like there’s water in his lungs, realizing there really isn’t a way out of May's apartment. “I’m stuck at that place, Tony.”
“You could stay here,” Tony says, casually. Like those words didn’t just make Peter's heart stop. For the first time since they settled in the living room, Peter looks at Tony. “What?” He manages, barely. “I’m just throwing it out there, kiddo. You already have your own room. Probably needs to be updated, I mean, you’re not a teenager anymore, but it’s yours. Morgan would be more than happy, ecstatic, even. Pepper loves you, and I love you,” Tony says, like loving Peter is as simple as breathing. Like loving him isn’t a chore, something he has to do.
“That sounds really simple, Mr. Stark.” Is all he can say.
“Life doesn’t have to be difficult, Peter.”
Peter shifts, leaning against the arm of the couch, facing Tony. “You’re sure? Do you want me here?”
“Peter, if I didn’t want you here, I wouldn’t have offered.”
Oh.
Peter swallows, looking down at his hands, in red and web-patterned gloves. “I got jealous of a dog tonight,” He says, mindlessly cracking his fingers. “It’s stupid, I just-- I haven’t felt wanted in a long time, I guess. Not even Uncle Ben, or May, wanted me. I was thrown at them; they never even wanted kids.” Peter closes his eyes, fighting back tears. “And then Patrice was just so happy to see her dog again, I mean a flood of tears when she realized her dog was safe, and back in her arms. I’m jealous of a German Shepherd, Mr. Stark,” Peters crying now, a few tears escape and fall down his cheeks, falling onto the beige couch. He wipes them away, taking in a deep breath. He can feel Tony’s cogs turning, trying to form a response. Peter feels bad, he knows it’s an odd thing to hear, a stupid thought that’s plagued him.
“It’s not stupid, Peter. You want unconditional love, a safe place to go home to when you’re lost. A person to welcome you with open arms. Every person deserves that, Peter. I want you to have that, which is why I’m offering you your room.”
‘Your room’
“My room.”
Tony nods, “It’s waiting for you, has been for a while now. But there’s no pressure here, no wrong choice. There’s no decision here that would make me upset with you. Of course, I’d love to have you, but if you don’t want to stay here, that’s okay. We can figure something out.” His hand is on Peter's shoulder now, a comforting presence as Peter digests Tony’s words. Peter feels the weight, he feels the ocean in his chest, frenzied.
Nearing 3 a.m., opening the door to his room, the bed is made. His bed is made. It’s just how he left it, Star Wars posters, his red Converse sitting by his desk. The black and white checkerboard bedspread is slightly worn, from years of use, the white faded and more of a cream color. Comfortable. There are Daily Bugle articles about Spider-Man hung up on the walls, too. He and MJ would spend hours laughing over them. His name is Menace in her phone for a reason, after all.
He’s in Tony’s old MIT sweatshirt and a pair of sleep shorts he left ages ago. Before he shuts the door, he hugs Tony, in a tight but comfortable embrace. He’s surrounded by earl grey, a hint of “orange stuff”, and their Tide fabric soap. His ribcage feels relaxed now. His bones ache, but it’s dulled. A warmth settles in his chest as they part, waves in the hot summer sun. Maybe it’s the look in Tony’s eyes, a fondness he hasn’t seen in Mays in who knows how long, or the smile lines that have grown more prominent as Tony has gotten older. “Love you, kid. Sweet dreams.” Tony closes the door behind him, a soft smile on his face.
Peter looks around his room, the smallest in the penthouse, but still three times larger than the one back at Mays. Ned's Palpatine figure is on his nightstand, next to a copy of “Coraline”, MJ's copy complete with annotations. His record player, a vintage model he and Tony restored a few years back, had a record in it still. Looking closely, he could see it was Fleetwood Mac's Tango in the Night. Tony’s original print, no doubt. As he pulled back the covers and climbed into bed, he was enveloped in welcoming, worn, and familiar sheets. White in color, soft but not too soft. There was a throw blanket at the foot of the bed, a deep blue, crocheted by Pepper herself. He turned off the bedside lamp, closing his eyes. He took in a deep breath, through the nose.
Lavender, Pepper.
Vanilla and chai, Morgan.
Earl grey, Tony.
Black tea and honey, Peter.
Sleep welcomed him, anticipating his arrival. His chest rose and fell, a calm ocean current, undisturbed and steady.