Chapter Text
“Okay, I’ve got it this time,” Peter promised.
“Are you sure, kid? We can go over the story again—”
“No,” Peter said, rolling his gaze toward the ceiling. Tony forgot, sometimes, how perfect Peter’s memory was. How sometimes it would have been better to forget, to not remember each and every detail of each and every terrible thing that happened to him, but most of the time, it was helpful. Like when Peter needed to learn several years’ worth of information all at once due to a significant lack of schooling on account of being kidnapped and held for illegal experimentation. Or when Ned wanted to try a new level of the game he was currently obsessed with and Peter needed to learn all the cheat codes. Or this.
Holiday traditions.
Peter barely knew what holidays were, still, but he very much liked the idea of traditions. Except Tony kept questioning Peter’s memory, which might not have been one of his superpowers, but was still so much better than a typical human’s.
“Humor me?” Tony asked. He did that thing with his eyes where he pretended to be Peter when he wanted something, only much less successfully. “Please?”
“Fine,” Peter huffed. They’d already gone over the story three times and Peter didn’t understand what he kept getting wrong. “A man breaks into the Tower to plant unauthorized packages inside to try to trick us into opening them. Then he leaves again before anyone can see him.”
Tony pinched the bridge of his nose. Again.
“What?” Peter snapped. “That’s the story! You literally just read it with me, Mister Stark. I don’t understand what you want! I keep telling you, Nat will kill him for us. Then she’ll safely move the packages into a better location to properly dispose of them. Thank you for warning me, but you don’t need to fear him anymore. I just don’t understand why you keep allowing FRIDAY to let him in.”
“Fine. Fine. Peter, you win.”
Grinning, Peter reached forward for his drink. The metal sat warm and pleasant in his palm, feeling almost as nice as the sense of accomplishment warming his chest. He’d learned all about stranger danger from every Avenger he knew before he’d ever been allowed to leave the Tower. Peter assumed the same principles applied even when it was a stranger in a familiar location and he was thrilled to know he was correct.
“We’re still celebrating,” Tony said. “The presents are coming from me. And you’re going to pretend you see nothing and hear nothing when I bring in any boxes or bags you aren’t allowed to look at until the morning of. And you will pretend you hear nothing and stay in your room with FRIDAY when I’m setting everything up the night before. You’re going to your room early, I’m not doing any three o’clock in the morning setup and wrapping B-S.”
“Uh.” Peter felt like he’d lost Tony somewhere in there, because most of that had nothing to do with the legend of the Santa Claus. But. He knew about presents. “Thank you, Mister Stark. Tony. I like presents. I’ll stay in my room.”
“Good.” Tony turned, sinking further into the couch, before he suddenly rounded on Peter again. “FRIDAY will be sworn to secrecy, too. Don’t think you can get any hints out of her.”
Peter rolled his eyes again.
- - -
“She loves it!” Peter declared, hands clasped together at his chest because he desperately wanted to grab Cat and squeeze her because he loved her so much. She swung her head determinedly, waving the little white pompom situated on the point of her red hat. Peter had (delicately) wrestled her into the matching red suit that covered her front legs and fastened at her neck. There were even two little arms sticking out of the suit sleeves to make her look like a person with a little cat face! It was hilarious!
Cat, making a rumbling series of squeaks and meows and noise, successfully pinned one of the arms between her and the wall. That brought it close enough for her to start biting at it. Bits of red fabric and white fluff scattered around her.
Peter took approximately one thousand photos on his StarkPad, plus a video. He immediately sent the video to Ned, then a string of heart emojis and crying faces to FRIDAY, because she’d been the one to find the costume link for Peter.
“Um.” Bruce stood at the end of the hallway, staring at them. Cat, tearing the arm from the red suit. Peter, crouched over her, grinning, black eyes gleaming in the relative darkness, as FRIDAY kept the lights dimmed for Peter whenever possible. “What’s. Going on, here? Are you . . . sure she likes that?”
“Yes,” Peter said, looking away from Bruce because he was going to make Peter miss everything. Satisfied with her victory, Cat rolled to her side, batting at the dismembered arm and sending it skittering across the floor. Back and forth and back and forth.
“Clint, where did you say you found her, again?” Bruce asked.
Peter glanced upward, but Clint was over in the kitchen. He’d only made the mistake of taking Peter’s leftovers, properly labeled with his name and everything, once, so he could be trusted alone in there. Apparently, humans didn’t thrive on blood, not even when it had once belonged to Steve.
“Oh, I didn’t!” Clint called back before resuming some cheerful whistling. He really liked the holiday spirit and had taught Peter about a lot of different songs, but he wouldn’t be around the Tower much longer before he’d be gone until the next year. Something about family time and needing a goddamn vacation so I can see my kids.
“You didn’t . . . say? Or you didn’t find her?” Bruce asked. For whatever reason, he sounded stressed out, but Peter was beginning to learn that was something that happened to humans pretty regularly throughout the holiday season.
“She really likes biting things,” Peter said, finally giving into his urge to pick up Cat. Carefully, holding her gently, the way she liked, even though the remaining arm got a little bit in his way. She kneaded her paws against him, meowing with satisfaction when she knocked a purr from his chest. “And I do, too. It’s great.”
Squishing Cat’s face near his own, Peter turned back to Bruce, only to see him retreating back down the hallway, muttering about needing to look into something.
Weird. But Bruce was always busy, so Peter knew not to take it personally.
“Okay, we can take the costume off now,” Peter told Cat, carrying her back toward his room. “It’s time to find something for me to bite, anyway. I don’t have any fun costumes, though. Maybe FRIDAY will order something.”
- - -
Peter disliked a lot of things because of his time with them. Small spaces. Rooms without windows. Labs belonging to anyone apart from Bruce or Tony.
Sometimes, though, it was hard to remember and recognize how he really felt about any of it. Like when they’d told him he liked the darkness and Peter needed to discover for himself how wrong that was. Like when they’d said he shouldn’t be educated because there was no point in teaching an overgrown spider.
Sometimes, Peter needed to stop and think and assess for himself. To discover how he really felt about a thing.
That’d led him to the kitchen. To the candy canes.
Pepper brought in a new kind almost every day. Some were flavored like Peter’s favorite candies or fruit punch or something called mystery flavor which didn’t taste like much of anything at all. The new boxes always mixed in with the old, making little candy bouquets on the table in vases Tony didn’t use for anything else.
The red and white striped ones made Peter’s nose itch.
He knew with them he hated peppermint. But maybe they’d done something to it to make Peter feel that way around it. It shouldn’t be so bad, when it shared half a name with one of his favorite people.
Besides, according to FRIDAY, regular striped candy canes were an essential part of the holiday season. Oftentimes gifted after meeting with the Santa Claus (who surely could have been caught by someone less ruthless and efficient than Nat, because he went around meeting and greeting with people before breaking into their homes), or after touring a house decorated for the holidays (Happy said that letting strangers into the Tower was ‘maybe the worst idea I’ve ever heard in my entire career’), or when gathering with friends. Striped decorations existed everywhere. People saw a candy cane and thought of good, happy things.
And . . . peppermint. Peter’s nose wrinkled and he jabbed his tongue between his fangs, searching for any last tastes of blood, procrastinating the start of his impending experiment.
He should have asked Bruce for a lab coat, to make it official, but he and Ned never wore anything like that when they were trying to discover the secrets of the universe and everything.
“Are you alright, Peter?”
He hadn’t meant to make FRIDAY concerned, but. To be fair, he’d stood, unmoving, in the kitchen, staring down the vases, for far too long.
“Yes,” Peter nodded. “I’m just . . . having a snack.”
Because he was allowed to eat as much as he wanted whenever he wanted now that he understood all of Pepper’s lessons on a balanced diet.
Reaching forward, Peter pulled one of the peppermint candy canes from the vase. He fiddled with the plastic wrapped around it, infuriated for a hot, blinding moment when it kept slipping between his fingers and made it nearly impossible to free the candy.
“Peter.” FRIDAY sounded hesitant, which made him glance upward. Nothing ever made his friend sound uncertain. “According to your records, you have experienced adverse reactions to peppermint in the past, so I would advise against ingestion.”
“But I want to participate in everything,” Peter said. “Probably. I think. Which is why I have to try it now, in case it’s terrible.”
If it was, he’d have to hide the rest of them to protect others from this holiday tradition.
“It would be better to have in-person supervision,” FRIDAY said. “I cannot—”
“I have plenty of experimenting experience,” Peter said, grinning when he finally managed to rip into the plastic. Almost immediately, his fingertips stuck to the candy cane. It was an awful sensation, one he’d experienced already with the other flavors. It felt nothing like his usually unusual sticky skin.
“If I alert the boss, he will only be a few moments,” FRIDAY said. “I would prefer he supervise, Peter.”
But Tony might try to talk Peter out of it, because he had access to the same history FRIDAY did. And Peter was totally capable of handling this himself! Just like he had when he’d read that article about starting fires with a mirror and a beam of sunlight! And when he’d read that other article about covering up fire damage!
Peter stuck the end of the candy cane in his mouth, biting down on the candy like he always did. Sticky shards erupted around his teeth, some spilling onto the floor, others filling his mouth with . . .
Possibly the worst taste he’d ever experienced. Peter powered through it, because his internal strength was just as good as his super strength. He chewed and chewed and chewed and forced himself to swallow when he thought the shards wouldn’t hurt his throat on the way down.
“The boss is on his way up,” FRIDAY announced.
Peter frowned, because it offended him when FRIDAY and Mister Stark teamed up against him like that. Looking out for his best interests or whatever was so incredibly lame. Peter was allowed to do things! He was allowed to eat peppermint!
His throat . . . really did keep burning. He’d thought the initial minty sting would go away. And his stomach felt too tight, the way it did whenever he watched a movie where someone lost their way for a little bit, or when he ate too much pizza, or if Tony left him alone for too long.
The tightness didn’t dissipate, either. Between that and the sting in his mouth, Peter had to sit down for a minute, because his senses really didn’t like the overwhelming response happening throughout his entire body. It was only a shame that the table suddenly seemed much too far away, but the floor was a perfectly acceptable place to sit. Tony even preferred when Peter sat there instead of the ceiling, because it meant there was a lesser chance of remaining unseen by the inhabitants of the Tower for an absurd amount of time.
Peter thought maybe he would like for Tony to perceive him now, actually. His stomach twisted in a way that made him curl up his knees against his chest. He gagged, trying to cough out the peppermint taste coating his tongue, but that just ended up being a little gross because he felt all drool-y then on top of feeling . . . sick.
Peter hadn’t really felt like this, not since he’d left them. He’d forgotten how much it could hurt when something inside him didn’t agree with the rest of his system. He wanted the peppermint out. He wanted to speak to his past self to tell him to listen to FRIDAY. He wanted Tony.
Squeezing his eyes shut against lights that were once perfectly dimmed for his sensitive eyesight but now seemed overbright, Peter leaned over and threw up on the kitchen floor.
It did not, in fact, make him feel any better.
A small, miserably noise escaped Peter before he burrowed his face in his knees. He was glad he’d left Cat in his room so she wouldn’t need to witness this. It was bad enough that FRIDAY was forced to see it all. Peter was a terrible friend; she’d tried to spare him this, and he’d thought he knew better. That he could experiment, and participate in every aspect of the holiday season, and that they had tricked him about this like they had the whole monster thing and keeping him from seeing outside.
“Oh, Pete. What’s going on in here?”
“Mister Stark,” Peter mumbled miserably against his sweatpants. Then he lifted his head, forcing his eyes open a sliver. Tony stood in the doorway, hesitating and disheveled. He’d probably been in the middle of a project when FRIDAY called him up. It was Peter’s fault, then, for interrupting, all because he’d wanted to have a candy cane.
“Pete? What’s happening?”
“Mister Stark, I don’t feel so good,” Peter said, tipping his head back with another pitiful groan. That encouraged Tony to shuffle a few steps closer.
“You don’t look so good,” Tony said. “What happened? Was it . . . Did you leave your drink out of the fridge too long again before drinking it?”
No. Peter had only had to make that mistake once. He’d gotten distracted, curled up with Cat, and figured he could finish his drink later when he was less comfortable and not trapped beneath her. Who was he, to disturb her slumber?
Well, he would disturb her, if it ever happened again. Clint had nearly fainted when Peter started projectile vomiting old blood.
“Mister Stark,” Peter sniffed. “I threw up.”
“You sure did,” Tony said. “Yikes. Giving me flashbacks to our first meeting, kid. Remember that?”
Oh. Tony was closer now, by Peter’s side, moving him closer to the cleaner side of the kitchen. But Peter needed to clean up after himself—
“Don’t worry about it, kid,” Tony said. “That’s what the staff is for, and why I pay out such wonderful holiday bonuses. I’ll send whoever cleans it on an all expenses paid vacation, if that makes you feel better.”
“Yes, it would,” Peter said, voice still strange and strangled. Probably because it still felt like his stomach was trying to eat itself. “Hawaii, so they can meet the aliens.”
“Okay. Sure. Remind me that we need to clarify a few things about that later.” Tony did that thing where he patted Peter’s head because he didn’t really know what to do with his hands. “FRIDAY told me about your little shenanigans up here.”
“I wanted a candy cane,” Peter said.
“Should have clarified to you that you could have literally anything except for what you just ate,” Tony said. “Peppermint doesn’t sit well with spiderkids. I’m gonna have to trust that this was enough of a lesson for you not to repeat this experient.”
Peter sniffled again.
“And I’ll have the cleaner take all the peppermint ones home so we’re not tempted, anyway,” Tony said. “Lucky for you and your super healing, you should feel better again soon. Unluckily for you, that means you’ll probably get well too fast for me to give you any of the old human remedies for an upset stomach. Movie night? I’ll bring a bowl in case you, uh, need to let it all out again.”
Peter still tasted that infernal peppermint in his teeth and nodded, because he couldn’t guarantee his upset stomach wouldn’t rebel again.
“There’s a whole list of seasonally appropriate movies Clint left us,” Tony said. “I’m sure Steve still hasn’t watched—”
“No,” Peter interrupted. “Ohana.”
“Whatever you want, kid,” Tony said. “I bow to your whim. Except when it comes to, you know, cleaning up the gross stuff. Let’s get out of the kitchen.”