Chapter Five
Peter woke up with his tongue stuck to the roof of his mouth and his legs throw over the side of the bed. He blinked away the sleep in his eyes and yawned. The cut on his lip pulled uncomfortably, and the events of the past day- or however long he’d been asleep- came rushing back to him. He sighed slowly, testing out his ribs. The pain had gone down quite a bit, but he was still sore, and he suspected moving might still be a challenge. He sat up slowly, wincing only slightly as he did so. Peter looked around the room appraisingly. The curtains had been drawn over both windows. There was a blanket draped over an armchair that had been dragged to the side of the bed. A lamp on the dresser had been left on, and the door to the hall was cracked. Peter stood, and was surprised to find that he could do it without screaming in agony.
He paused at the door and listened. He thought he heard voices downstairs, low and rumbling. Peter leaned heavily against the walls as he made his way down to the main level of the house. From the pictures in the stairwell, Peter was guessing this was Steve and Tony’s house. He stopped to catch his breath at the bottom of the stairs. The voices were still muffled, but he could hear them a little more clearly. He followed the sound to the back of the house, into what he assumed was the kitchen from the large stainless steel refrigerator directly across from the doorway.
Peter took a step into the kitchen and nearly bit his own tongue off trying to stifle a shriek of surprise. Steve had his back to him, bare ass naked from the waist down. Tony’s legs were wrapped around his hips and one hand, holding a spatula was resting against Steve’s lower back. The two men didn’t hear Peter’s entrance, and Peter scrambled out of the room as quietly as he could, the moans and giggles from the kitchen chasing him up the stairs. Peter moved faster than he should have, considering his condition. Peter collapsed against the bed, breathing heavily and shoving his fists against his eyes to block out the image of Steve and Tony fucking on the kitchen counter.
Downstairs, Steve heard a loud thud and froze, listening.
“Hey,” Tony swatted him on the ass with the spatula. “I’m not done with you.”
Steve grinned and pecked Tony. “You are for now. I think I heard Peter wake up. I don’t think we want to scar him this soon.”
Tony grumbled. “Yeah, yeah. Whatever. Toss me my pants.”
Steve passed him the clothing and glanced over at the stove. “Damn! I burnt the pancakes!”
“Good thing I have better uses for a spatula,” Tony growled into his neck, wrapping his arms around Steve’s waist.
“You saw WHAT?!” Darcy shrieked, dropping her coffee cup.
It shattered, sending shards of pottery and hot coffee across the bakery floor.
Peter shushed her with the intensity of a hurricane. “Darcy! Quiet!”
“I’m sorry, Bambi, I’m just a little shocked. Give me a minute to adjust,” Darcy fanned herself dramatically.
Peter rolled his eyes. “Whatever. Just don’t tell anyone. Got it?”
Darcy waved him off. “Hold on, I’m visualizing.”
Peter groaned. “You are ridiculous.”
“How exactly were they positioned?” Darcy asked.
“I hate you a little bit,” Peter said.
Darcy leaned closer. “You mentioned a spatula…?”
Peter dropped his head against the front counter in frustration. The kitchen door swung open and the footsteps came to a stop right next to him. He peeked up at Clint and groaned again, hiding in his arms.
“What’s with him?” Clint asked Darcy.
Darcy grinned. “He walked in on Tony and Steve this morning.”
Clint’s jaw dropped. “Oh my fucking god! You’re kidding.”
“Nope,” Darcy shook her head. “He saw the whole shebang.”
“Jesus, Darcy, you make it sound like I watched them!” Peter lifted his head to glare at her. “And I thought I told you not to tell anyone.”
Darcy shrugged. “I took that as more of a suggestion.”
Clint grabbed Peter by the shoulders. “What. Happened.”
“I walked into the kitchen and they were…canoodling on the island,” Peter grimaced.
“With a spatula,” Darcy added.
Clint clapped gleefully. “Oh my god, that is awesome!”
“What’s awesome?”
All three flinched.
Clint spun around and did a finger wave. “Hey, Nat! How’s it going?”
Natasha arched an eyebrow at him. “In the five minutes we’ve been separated? Fine.”
“Good, good!” Clint rubbed his hands together. “Well, I’m going to go decorate something.”
“You sure that’s a good idea?” Natasha asked. “Right after Saturday morning shots?”
Clint grinned. “I’ve done some of my best work with more alcohol in my system than a couple of shots.”
“If you say so,” Natasha dismissed him.
Clint scrambled up the ladder. Peter dropped his head back to the counter. Darcy retrieved the mop and cleaned up her mess.
That afternoon, Peter was sorting through Shield buttons and magnets for an upcoming festival the bakery was working. He had his work spread out next to the register. He had been ordered to stay on a stool in this area until further notice. Everyone was taking his injuries far too seriously for his comfort. He wasn’t an invalid. He could carry a tray of cupcakes. It really wouldn’t kill him. Peter dumped a handful of pins into the proper bucket with more force than necessary. He slid off the stool and walked across the room to refill the magnet box. He heard Steve come into the front room, and almost instantly, Clint’s radio turned off and the curtain opened. Peter limped back to the counter carefully.
“How are you feeling, Peter?” Steve asked pleasantly.
Peter saluted with a small smile.
Steve’s smile faltered. “You sure? You look like you’re in pain. Is it time for your next dose of medicine? You took your antibiotics this morning, didn’t you?”
“Yeah, I did. And no, it isn’t. I’m fine, Steve. Just a little tired,” Peter explained.
Steve frowned. “Do you want me to drive you home so you can get some rest? We’re slow right now, and we’re ahead in orders.”
“I’m okay. Really,” Peter assured him.
From above, Clint cleared his throat. “Hey, Steve?”
Steve turned away from Peter. “Yeah, Clint?”
“Have you seen that new spatula?” Clint asked innocently.
Peter dropped the box full of magnets and they scattered across the floor, colliding with Steve’s feet. Clint made a choking noise. Steve was by Peter’s side in a flash.
“Are you sure you’re okay?” he persisted.
Peter bent slowly to gather up the magnets. “Just clumsy.”
Steve wrung his hands nervously. “If you say so. When you finish here, I’m taking you home. I knew we shouldn’t have let you come in today.”
Tony strolled through the front door. “What’s all this?”
“I think Peter needs to go rest,” Steve informed him.
Tony stooped to help Peter. “Not feeling so hot, kiddo?”
“I’m fine,” Peter insisted.
Tony shrugged and dropped the rest of the magnets into Peter’s box. “If he says he’s okay, he’s okay, Steve. What do you guys want to do for dinner tonight?”
“How about pancakes?” Clint suggested from the rafters.
Peter tripped over his own feet and went down on one knee. Tony caught his elbow and helped him to his feet.
“Hey, maybe you should take it easy,” Tony said, steadying him. “You look a little pale.”
Clint chuckled, leaning over the ledge. “Yeah, kid, you look like ass.”
Steve clucked disapprovingly. “Clint, stop it. He’s sick.”
Peter sighed.
“Come on, kiddo. I’ll drive you back to the house. You can pass out for a little while, and everybody can come over for pancakes,” Tony said.
Peter looked alarmed. “No!”
Steve and Tony stared at him.
“I mean,” Peter cleared his throat. “I’m staying with Darcy tonight. She asked me to.”
“Oh,” Steve’s shoulders drooped.
Darcy joined them just then, followed by Bruce.
“Ah, there she is!” Peter dropped the box onto the counter. “We should probably get going so I can stop by my dorm. See ya, guys.”
Tony held out a hand. “Hang on a second, kiddo. Do you have your medicine? I’m not really one to talk, but you have to take it. We don’t want you getting pneumonia or something.”
“Pneumonia?” Bruce asked.
Tony waved his hands. “Whatever.”
“Yeah, I’ve got it. Let’s go, Darcy,” Peter grabbed her hand and nearly yanked her out the door.
She tugged herself free on the sidewalk. “What was that all about?”
“I need alcohol,” Peter moaned.
Darcy grinned. “Right on. But no pain pills. Hand ‘em over.”
Darcy’s apartment could pass for a licensed bar. She had one of everything, in nearly every brand made. And she was an expert mixologist, though she really preferred straight liquor. When they got there, she immediately turned on her stereo and pulled a bottle of amber liquid and a couple of whiskey glasses out of a cabinet. She dropped a couple of perfectly square cubes in each glass and covered them with the contents of the bottle. She slid one over to Peter, who sniffed it experimentally.
“Jack Daniel’s,” Darcy supplied, taking a gulp. “Ahh.”
Peter took a careful sip and gagged. His experiences with alcohol stopped at warm beer. He braced himself and took another drink. This one went down much smoother, as did the one after that.
“Not too bad,” he studied the glass intently.
Darcy had already refilled her glass and was rummaging through her fridge. “Foooooooood.”
Peter settled himself onto a chair. “Was this a bad idea?”
“Absolutely. But- fuck yeah!” Darcy stood, a package of cookie dough held high above her head. “But we’re going to do it anyway.”
She dropped the cookie dough onto the table and snagged the bottle from the counter. “Breakfast of champions.”
Peter glanced at the clock above the stove. “It’s four o’clock.”
“Midday snack of champions,” Darcy corrected, stuffing a hunk of dough into her mouth.
Peter drained his second glass. “This gets better, the more you drink.”
Darcy nodded. “You ready for the next step?”
“I guess,” Peter shrugged.
Darcy retrieved a bottle of clear alcohol and a shot glass.
“Vodka?” Peter guessed.
Darcy grinned evilly. “Everclear.”
This meant nothing to Peter, so he accepted the shot glass and downed it, just as he’d seen done in movies. His lungs were on fire and his mouth was bone dry.
He sputtered and coughed, but managed to keep the alcohol down. “What…was…that?”
Darcy took her shot, with almost now sputtering. “Grain alcohol.”
Peter giggled. And kept giggling. Darcy started in, too.
“Wait, wait, wait! I have an idea!” Darcy picked up her shot glass and slammed it to the ground. “Another!”
Peter burst out laughing. “What the hell is that?”
“I saw Thor do it the other day with his coffee cup,” Darcy explained between gasps.
Peter picked up his shot glass and smashed it against the opposite wall. “A mother! Whoops. My tongue doesn’t work.”
Darcy raised the bottle. “You can fix that. With more of this! Onwards, Bambi!”
“Onwards and upwards!” Peter shouted as he stood, knocking his chair over.
“Hey, it’s Wade. You know what to do. If you don’t, you aren’t worth my time. Beeep.”
“Waaaaaaaade! Where aaaaarrrreeee you? I have been WADE-ing a long time. Hehehe. Whooo. Hey, you know what you shou’ try, man? Cookie dough. It is…the greatest shit ever. Like, it’s mind blowin’. Like, like, it blows your mind. Wade! Do you know what wou’ be so fun r’now? FIREWORKS. Fucking boom! Hey, Darce, d’you have any fireworks? ‘Cause we could totally set ‘em off in the living room if we opened a window. Y’don’t? Ah, fuck. Fuckity fuckity fuck. I’m gonna call Wade. He prolly had fireworks. * Beep boop boop beep bap boop beep beep boop * Why isn’t it ringing?! I have failed!”
Steve rummaged through his pockets, grabbing his phone and checking the screen. “Hello?”
“Steeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeve,” Peter slurred. “Alllllccoholllllll.”
Steve threw a hand up in the air. “Are you drunk?”
“Hellll yeah!” Peter shouted into the phone.
“You can’t drink when you’re on pain medication! Where are you, I’m coming to get you right now!” Steve bit his lip.
Tony turned towards him. “Is that Peter? Did you say he was drunk?”
“I’m fine, dude!” Peter howled. “Later bitches!”
The call ended and Steve stared at his phone in horror.
“What is it? Is he okay?” Tony asked.
Steve looked up, shocked. “He’s drunk. He said, ‘later bitches’ and hung up on me.”
Clint doubled over, holding his sides and laughing.
Steve’s phone rang again, and he answered it quickly. “Peter?”
“No, it’s Wade. What the hell is wrong with Parker?” he asked carefully.
Steve sighed. “He’s drunk.”
Wade paused. “Peter Parker?”
“Yes,” Steve replied slowly, as if Wade should know this.
“Our Peter Parker? Dorky kid with the crazy hair? Teen genius?” Wade clarified.
“Yes,” Steve repeated.
Wade was silent for a long moment. “We’re all fucked.”
“I beg your pardon?” Steve asked.
“If Parker’s drinking, we are all fucked. That kid is like a saint. No, he drinks even less than a saint. Saints had ale. And wine, and shit. If he’s drinking, the world is ending,” Wade finished dramatically.
Steve closed his eyes. “Could it be because of the attack?”
“No,” Wade decided. “He’s gotten in scuffles before. He never drank after those. This must have been something more traumatic.”
“More traumatic than being beaten in an alley?” Steve said uncertainly.
Wade sighed. “I guess so. I’ll head over to Darcy’s and see if they’re there. Later.”
Steve dropped his phone into his pocket and looked at the rest of the group. “Peter is drunk, and Wade says he thinks something traumatic would have had to have happened to him to get him to drink.”
“Like the attack?” Bruce asked.
Steve shook his head. “More traumatic than that?”
“What’s more traumatic for a child than that?” Thor’s eyebrows knit together.
Clint collapsed on the floor. “Oh, my abs. Oh, dear lord it hurts so good.”
Natasha kicked him in the side. “Clint, get up. This is serious.”
“Can’t. Breathe. Too. Funny,” Clint exploded into laughter again.
Tony glared at him. “This isn’t funny, Barton! Peter could be in danger!”
Clint waved him away. “Promise…he’s…fine.”
The rest of them stood around Clint, watching him laugh on the floor. Natasha arched an eyebrow in suspicion. Thor looked confused. Loki and Tony both looked like they wanted to kick Clint, but that was mostly Loki’s default setting. Steve still looked worried, and Bruce seemed a little lost. Clint finally contained himself and lay there, catching his breath.
“Woooh. That was fun,” he breathed.
Natasha looked down at him. “You’re crazy.”
Clint nodded. “I am indeed. Now let’s go eat pancakes.”