Chapter Six
“Wake up, sunshine!” A voice shouted.
Peter flinched and buried his face in the carpet.
“Ah, c’mon now, Parker. Don’t make me get the ice water,” Wade threatened.
Peter grumbled and covered his head with his arms. He heard Wade move away and relaxed, hoping he’d leave and let Peter sleep for a year or two. Half a second later, Darcy’s apartment was filled with Norwegian death metal at top volume. Peter let out an inhuman wail and dug his nails into the floor. He lifted his head and glared at Wade, who was leaning against the wall next to the stereo.
“Hey, you’re awake!” Wade yelled over the music.
“Turn it off or I will carve out your kidneys with a rusty pitchfork,” Peter growled.
Wade’s jaw dropped. “Jesus, Parker.” He turned the stereo off. “A little dramatic, aren’t we?”
Peter got to his feet and wobbled in place, trying to stand up straight. A door on the opposite side of the room opened and Darcy stumbled out in a t-shirt and the smallest pair of panties Peter had ever had the misfortune of seeing. Peter slapped a hand over his eyes.
“Darce,” he groaned. “Eyes. Ass.”
Darcy paused and looked down, spilling her messy hair over her face. “When did I buy these?”
Peter peeked between his fingers. “Pants, Darce.”
“Shirt, Peter,” Darcy shot back sleepily. “Coffee, Darcy. Morning, Wade.”
Wade waved. “So I take it two word sentences are all I’m going to get?”
“Until coffee,” Peter grumbled, looking for his shirt.
Wade jerked his thumb towards the kitchen. “Coffee’s on the table.”
Darcy walked up to Wade and threw her arms around him. “Love.”
“You, too, Darce,” Wade patted her back.
“Anybody see my shirt?” Peter asked.
He flipped a couch cushion over and found a remote and an open box of condoms.
“Oh, dear god,” Peter moaned. “Darcy.”
Darcy stuck her head in from the kitchen. “What, Bambi?”
Peter held up the box. “Really?”
“Keep ‘em. I’ve got plenty,” Darcy shrugged.
Peter dropped the box back onto the couch and slid the cushion back in place. “Where the hell is my shirt?”
Wade cleared his throat. Peter turned toward him and narrowed his eyes suspiciously. Wade smiled beatifically and arched an eyebrow.
“Why are you looking at me like that?” Peter demanded.
Wade shrugged.
“Wade, I’m too hungover for this,” Peter warned him.
Wade started whistling the national anthem. Peter stared at him as he started around the room. Wade came to a stop next to the window and forced it open. Peter followed him.
“Wade, what the hell are you up to?” Peter growled impatiently.
“Oh, nothing, honey. I just thought you should see the fruits of last night’s escapade,” Wade explained, gesturing outside.
Peter swallowed hard at the term of endearment and pushed Wade aside to peer out the window. “Oh…fuck.”
Wade clapped him on the back. “Oh, yes. You did.”
“Are those my…” Peter pulled at his waistband. “Fuck. How did I get my boxers on the flagpole?”
Wade chuckled. “I have no idea, but I wish I could’ve seen it. I think you may have tried to fly your shirt first. It was on the ground in front of the building when I came in.”
Peter swore loudly. Darcy ambled in from the kitchen, looking a little more awake.
“What’s going on?” she asked.
Wade grinned. “Peter’s underwear is flying at half mast.”
Darcy’s mouth fell open. “No fucking way.”
“Yes fucking way,” Wade nodded.
Darcy pushed Peter to the side and leaned out the window. “Wade! Hand me my phone!”
Peter tried to grab it from Wade, but he was too quick. Darcy took the phone and snapped a picture before falling back into the apartment.
“Peter’s…fine. Still…alive. Attach picture. Send,” Darcy mumbled as she typed.
Peter glared at her. “I hate you so much.”
Darcy took a sip of her coffee. “Hey, I’m awesome. Go drink your coffee and retrieve your clothing. We’ve got work in an hour.”
Wade straddled the windowsill. “I’ll lower the flag.”
Peter felt his face heat up and he stomped into the kitchen. He found his phone amid dirty glasses and an empty bottle. He had a couple of missed calls from Steve and Tony, and a text from Clint. All it contained was a picture of a heaping plate of pancakes. Peter deleted the message and picked up one of the coffee cups left on the table. There was a thud in the living room and Wade strolled in, twirling Peter’s boxers on the tip of his index finger. Peter snatched them away quickly, fully aware that he was blushing like a schoolgirl with a crush.
“Thanks,” Peter muttered grudgingly.
Wade winked at him. “Hey, no problem, Parker. What are friends for if not for retrieving articles of clothing?”
Peter took a sip of coffee and seared his bottom lip. He hissed and nearly dropped the coffee cup. “Fuck!”
Wade pulled open the freezer and grabbed an ice cube. He took the coffee from Peter and pressed the ice against Peter’s lip.
“Better?” he asked.
Peter gulped and nodded.
Wade’s lips quirked into a smile. “Good.”
“Shield Bakery, how can I help you?” Peter asked, tucking the phone between his chin and his shoulder.
Natasha dropped the appointment book in front of him. He nodded in thanks.
“Child,” Loki greeted him. “Thor has once again left the list of addresses at the bakery. I need them.”
Peter flipped through the book. “Are you ready for them?”
Loki sighed impatiently. Peter rolled his eyes and rattled off the list of addresses twice.
“Thank you, child,” Loki said, disconnecting.
Peter put down the phone and returned the book to the shelf.
“Thor forgot the addresses again?” Natasha asked, arranging a tray of cupcakes in the case.
“Apparently so,” Peter nodded and pulled the list of accounts Tony had given to him closer.
Natasha closed the case and wiped her hands on her apron. “What are you working on?”
“Tony gave me the account for that music festival we’re working next weekend. He wants me to come up with an estimate of how many of each thing we need to bring, along with an outline of what we should bring, and a schedule of who should be making what when,” Peter explained.
Natasha smiled. “What have you got so far?”
Peter grimaced. “A splitting headache and some doodles.”
Natasha laughed and gestured for him to stay put before disappearing into the kitchen. Peter turned back to his work and let his mind go numb. He ran his tongue over his bottom lip and felt his cheeks heat up at the memory of Wade holding the ice to his burn this morning. Peter’s mind wandered toward thoughts of his friend, and when Natasha returned, he was staring off into space with a smile on his lips.
Natasha set a mug in front of him. “Drink up. You’ll feel better.”
Peter peered into the mug. “What is it?”
“An old Russian remedy for hangovers,” Natasha answered.
There was a bark of laughter from Clint’s balcony. “Just don’t ask what’s in it.”
Peter took the smallest sip possible. It wasn’t that terrible, though he honestly couldn’t taste much.
Natasha shook her head. “No, no. Down in one gulp. Plug your nose and close your eyes or you’ll start tearing up.”
Peter looked between the mug and Natasha nervously. Clint had moved to the rail to watch him. Peter slowly plugged his nose and lifted the mug to his lips. He tipped his head back and swallowed the cold liquid. As soon as it hit the back of his throat, his gag reflex kicked in and it took all of his control not to spew.
Clint laughed and clapped his hands together. “Bravo, kid. You kept it down. That’s better than most first timers.”
Natasha smirked. “Yeah. Clint spit his first one all over himself.”
Clint glowered. “Okay, let’s not use me as an example anymore.”
“What…was…that,” Peter coughed.
“It’s called ‘sick head’,” Natasha explained. “Coat a glass in vegetable oil. Add one egg, a pinch of salt, some red pepper, a little black pepper, and two teaspoons of cold vodka. It’ll cure even the worst of hangovers.”
Peter blanched. “That was disgusting.”
Natasha nodded. “True, but you feel better already, don’t you?”
“I guess,” Peter admitted.
Darcy pushed open the kitchen door with her back. She had a cake in each hand. Steve followed her, with a huge cake covered in white buttercream.
“Clint, this wedding cake needs to be delivered in an hour. Please tell me you’ve made the sugar flowers,” Steve begged.
Clint rolled his eyes and held up an open plastic container. “They’re right here. I’m stealing Darcy and Peter to help me with the delivery and the set up.”
Steve nodded, and turned to Peter. “Do you think you’re up for it?”
“Yeah, my ribs are fine,” Peter patted his side.
Steve hesitated. “Don’t overexert yourself. And before you go, we need to talk.”
Peter squelched a groan. “We should get going, Steve. We don’t want to be late.”
“It’ll only take a minute,” Steve waved Peter into Tony’s office.
Tony glanced up from his phone when they entered. “Hey, kiddo. How’s it going?”
Peter shrugged and shifted uncomfortably. Tony looked at Steve.
“Sit,” Steve ordered.
Peter sank down onto the chair in front of the desk. “What’s this about?”
Steve crossed his arms. “This about the fact that you’re sixteen and you got drunk with Darcy last night.”
Tony sat up straighter. “Ohhh, that’s what this is about. Now I get it.”
“I don’t,” Peter said. “Why am I here?”
Steve dropped his hands to his hips. “You’re here because we’re worried. You were hurt, and the next night, you get wasted. You’re a teenager. It’s illegal for you to drink. Not to mention, you’re on painkillers. That could kill you!”
“I didn’t take any pills last night!” Peter insisted.
Steve shook his head. “Well, I’m glad to hear that, but that doesn’t make it any better. You still got drunk. You still broke the law.”
“What, are you going to have me arrested?” Peter’s voice rose.
“Hang on,” Tony said, holding up his hand. “No one’s getting arrested. Both of you need to calm down and we’ll talk rationally.”
“I’m being perfectly rational, Tony,” Steve sighed. “Peter just doesn’t want to listen.”
Peter stood up. “Excuse me? Why are you doing this? Any of this? I appreciate the concern for my well being, and I appreciate the job you’ve given me, but you are not my parents!”
“No, your parents are dead, and you’re all alone,” Steve yelled back.
Peter froze.
“Shit,” Tony whispered, covering his face.
Steve’s face paled. “Peter, I’m sorry. That’s not-“
“Yeah, whatever,” Peter muttered.
He ripped the door open and stomped out, brushing past Natasha and all but kicking open the front door. Through the windows, they could see him rush past Darcy and Clint, who were loading up the van. Clint called out to him, but Peter never slowed. Darcy and Clint exchanged a look. Clint glanced back at the bakery. Darcy said something to Clint and jogged after Peter. Steve walked out to the front window to watch them. Darcy caught up to Peter on the corner. She grabbed his shoulder. Peter pulled away and whirled around. His face was angry and hurt. Steve could see his mouth moving. Darcy flinched, and Steve knew Peter was shouting at her. Peter turned away, but Darcy grabbed him and pulled him into a tight hug. Peter sank into her embrace, and Steve felt a sharp pang in his chest. He turned away from the window and walked into the kitchen. A minute later, Bruce was pushed through the door, and Steve locked himself in the kitchen.