Party
Peter knew it had been a bad idea. Worse—a disastrous idea.
But it was too late to turn back now.
The tequila made him wince. He wasn't sure he liked it, but the warmth crawling down his throat was undeniably pleasant. His thoughts began to sink into a soft cotton wool; a delicious dizziness dulled his five senses, making him feel like he was back to being... normal again. No more heightened hearing, no more razor-sharp eyesight, no more overdeveloped sense of smell. He was once again Peter Parker at fourteen. Carefree, worried only about getting good grades, eating Cheerios, and returning May’s love a hundredfold.
Lulled by the basse-heavy music bouncing off the walls, he smiled to himself and caught MJ's gaze.
‘Hey, MJ! Don't you want to eat some cereal?’
‘No.’
She looked confused. Her brown curls were tied back in a bun, though a few strands fell over her face and bare shoulders. The strobe lights in Betty's living room cast pink and turquoise highlights on her cheeks.
Numbed from the tequila, Peter couldn't help but admire her, smiling like an idiot.
‘Does Stark know you're here?’ MJ asked, frowning at the red-and-white cup clutched in his hand.
‘He's the one who brought me here.’
‘Oh. And does he know what kind of party this is?’
Peter shrugged.
‘He probably suspects we're not just drinking grenadine. We talked in the car, I promised I'd be careful.’
‘And drinking five shots of tequila is part of your definition of being careful?’
‘Since when are you on Tony's side?’
MJ pouted:
‘Think again, loser. I'm on your side. That's why I'm worried: I don't want Stark to kill you.’
‘If that's the case, I hope you'll give a moving speech at my funeral,’ Peter sighed, very seriously.
It was always hard to read the emotions flickering in MJ's mysterious eyes, but despite her disapproving look, Peter could swear he saw a spark of mischief.
‘You can count on me, Parker.’
‘But there's no way he'll find out anything. What happens at the party stays at the party, right?’
MJ didn't look convinced.
‘That man seems to know exactly when you scratch your nose. And you think he won't know what happened a few blocks from his Tower?’
As if on cue, Peter's phone vibrated in his his pocket. He wasn’t at all surprised to see his guardian's name on the screen. Without the slightest hesitation, MJ peeked over his shoulder and let out a sympathetic snort.
‘Good luck, Peter,’ she said, patting his arm almost kindly. His heart did a weird little lurch at her touch—but he didn't have time to dwell on it. MJ had already disappeared into the crowd, blending into the sea of dancing silhouettes.
Peter looked down at his phone, chewing the inside of his cheek.
Tony hadn't sent one message.
He’d sent seven.
Tony Stark: Everything going well? Your good resolutions haven't drowned in a glass of vodka?
Tony Stark: Just kidding. I trust you.
Tony Stark: But shoot me a text when you’ve got 5 minutes, so I know my favorite pupil is alive and still able to type.
Tony Stark: Do I sound like a papa bear?
Tony Stark: Forget that last message.
Tony Stark: I definitely sound like a papa bear.
Tony Stark: Pete?
A pang of guilt jolted through Peter, and their last conversation came rushing back.
OOO
When Betty invited him to her party, Peter hesitated for a long time before accepting. He wasn't sure he wanted to spend his Saturday night surrounded by overexcited classmates, with enough beer to start a brewery.
But Betty had invited the whole class, and when Flash smirked and said, ‘Why are you hesitating? Afraid mama Stark’s gonna ground you, Parker?’—Peter caved. He said he’d go, without thinking twice about the consequences.
Still, he couldn't help but ask his guardian first.
Tony had looked genuinely caught off guard by such a request. ‘Oh, uh… what do you mean by party?’
‘A party,’ Peter had repeated slowly. ’You know, with music, food, drinks... But it’s nothing wild! We'll be good. Super good. Because, um...’
‘Because you're fifteen and itching to do everything adults told you not to?’ Tony had added, arching an eyebrow.
‘Yes. Well—no! Betty's not that kind of girl. And Ned and MJ will be there too.’
Tony had scratched his head, clearly skeptical.
‘Look, Pete’ he had finally said, ‘I was fifteen once. I know what you young people call a party, and I know it’s not exactly cross-stitch and cupcakes.’
‘We'll be good, I swear! It's just to... hang out? And Ned and MJ will be there’ Peter had repeated like it was a magic spell.
‘Yes, I heard you the first time. Look, I'll think about it, okay? I’ll talk to Pepper.’
Peter had immediately nodded, relieved. Pepper would be fine with it—probably even encouraging. She always seemed happy to hear about Ned and MJ—especially MJ, with whom she shared more than a few opinions (including the deeply unfair ratio of men to women in mainstream media). And she was way less panicky than Tony when it came to letting Peter try new things.
‘Okay! Thanks, Tony.’
‘No problem.’ Tony had paused, before looking at him seriously. ‘But, Pete... are you sure you want to go to this party?’
Peter had frowned, confused.
‘Uh… yeah? Why?’
‘I mean, you’re not just going to look cool, or something like that, right? Because it's also totally cool not to want to go and rather spend your Saturday night watching Star Wars with your old guardian, as lame as that sounds.’
The question had caught Peter off guard. Tony was watching him carefully, as if trying to read between the lines. Peter had looked away, his toes shifting nervously in his sneakers.
‘I really want to go,’ he had finally said.
‘Okay. All right. I believe you, Pete.’
OOO
On the way to Betty's house in Queens, Tony had seemed on edge.
He had insisted on driving Peter himself, brushing off an incredulous Happy, and had nervously navigated the streets of New York. Although his eyes were hidden behind the tinted lenses of his glasses, Peter could feel his occasional, worried glances.
‘Listen, kid,’ Tony had finally said, breaking the silence that had settled between them. ’I get it. You're at that age when you want to push boundaries, rebel a little, test your limits…’
‘Tony...’
‘But I can't pretend it doesn't bother me. I know where that path leads—I’ve been down it more times than I care to admit. The last thing I want, Peter, is for you to follow in my footsteps.’
‘Tony...’
‘I don't want you to go through what I did. I don't want you to wake up with no bloody memory of the last twelve hours, wondering what you said or did, or why your mind feels like it’s been through a blender. I don't want your happiness to depend on the contents of a bottle or pills that make your heart feel like it’s either raining or shining, depending on the dosage.’
‘Tony,’ Peter had interrupted, his voice firm. ’I'm fifteen, I'm just going to a party with my friends. I’m not gonna become an alcoholic or a drug addict, or—’
‘You don't know!’
Tony had slammed on the brakes, and Peter’s seatbelt had dug into his chest, squeezing the air from his lungs. Then Tony had pulled over to the side of the road, and let out a long, steady breath.
Peter had hesitated to touch his arm, unsure whether to offer comfort or give him space—but Tony had quickly composed himself, his eyes narrowing as he had spoke again, quieter this time.
‘I was younger than you when everything started falling apart. At first, you don't even realize what's happening. You think you're just having fun, partying, sticking it to your parents, who try so hard to shape you into some perfect version of themselves. But it gets out of hand faster than you think, and before you know it, you need that drink to have fun. You need it just to hang out with people you call friends, or to laugh with them, or to even smile at them. I don't want you… please, Peter, I don't want you to go down that road.’
‘Okay,’ Peter had whispered, finally reaching over and touching Tony’s hand. ’I won't drink anything, I won't take anything. I've never had alcohol, anyway. Except, you know, maybe Red Bull… does that count?’
‘No, Peter. You can't promise me that to me. I know what you’ll think: a single sip won’t hurt. But I just want you to promise me you’ll be careful. Please.’
Peter had nodded hesitantly. Tony’s gaze had been unwavering, and unlike his usual playful tone, he was dead serious—without even a trace of his usual mischievous smile.
‘I also want you to stay with Ned or MJ the whole time. And only eat or drink what you can see. Don’t accept anything from anyone unless you know exactly what it is. Got it? I’ll pick you up at midnight.’
Peter had rolled his eyes, finding his guardian’s a little too dramatic. “All right. I promise I'll be careful.’
‘Okay,’ Tony had sighed, his voice softening. ’I trust you, Spider-Man.’
OOO
He couldn't say exactly when Tony's word had faded from his mind, replaced by a confused—but almost visceral—desire to mingle with the other teenagers. He had started with a beer, taking a half-heartedly sip. The taste had made him wince, causing MJ laugh. Ned had quickly joined in, and soon they had all been laughing at their own audacity more than the bitter assault on their taste buds.
‘You guys look like real idiots,’ MJ had said with a grin, which didn’t stop her from taking a sip herself. ‘Ew, is this really what our parents love so much?’
Once they had finished their beers, they had turned their attention to the other cups scattered across the table. Not far off, Flash and Brad Davis were engaged in a heated tequila-pong match; it was neck-and-neck until Brad won, celebrating with a wink directed at MJ. Peter had noticed her blush, and something had stirred in his chest. When Brad had called for challengers, Peter hadn’t thought twice before rushing over, eager to face him.
OOO
One victory, five shots of tequila, and a brief chat with MJ later, Peter found himself leaning against the wall, trying to steady himself. His head was spinning, but it wasn't unpleasant. However, he was starting to feel a little hot; he ran his hand over his forehead to wipe away the sweat that had formed on it. The other teens seemed less affected by the alcohol than he was, and Peter suddenly realized he had no clue how alcohol interacted with his powers.
He looked at his phone screen again. Tony's words flickered in his mind, struggling to stick.
He frowned, realizing his body must be processing the alcohol much faster than everyone else’s, and he was starting to feel like he’d swallowed a barrel of bleach. Shit, if Tony could see him now…
No. No. By midnight, he’d be back to normal, and Tony would never know he’d pushed his limits.
A sudden chill crept up his neck as he thought he heard a cry in the distance—almost lost beneath the pounding music of the party. Peter stiffened, his eyes darting toward the window. His eyes slowly adjusted to the darkening street below, but there was nothing to be seen other than a stray cat licking a pizza box that had fallen from a trash bin.
‘Hey, you okay?’
Peter turned to find Ned’s worried gaze.
‘I think something’s happening outside,’ Peter whispered.
Ned's eyes widened. ‘You mean... like at Liz's party? There's an alien arms deal going on?!
‘No! No, it’s more... mundane, I think. An assault, maybe? I heard a woman scream a little further down.’
‘A woman screaming?’ Ned repeated, his voice risen an octave. ‘Are you sure? And... and you're going to go?’
‘I have no choice. I have to help her. At this hour, no one else will rescue her!’
‘Do you have your suit with you?’
Peter gave a quick nod. Tony hadn't specifically told him not to bring it, and without hesitation, Peter had packed it into his bag before coming.
‘Peter, are you sure—.’
‘I can't just ignore this!’ Peter cut in. ‘Someone out there needs Spider-Man, and I can't stay here pretending everything’s fine just because I'm at a party! I need to find an excuse to get out of here discreetly. Can you help me?
‘Oh, um...’
Ned seemed hesitant, but Peter's urgent look finally convinced him. He scanned the room and then, with a fake burst of concern, called out:
‘W-what? You don't feel well, Peter? Do you think you're gonna throw up?’
‘Eww!’ Betty groaned as she passed by. ‘If you’re gonna puke, Parker, do it outside!’
‘Sure,’ Peter replied immediately, grabbing his bag and heading for the exit.
OOO
Once outside Betty's house, Peter paused to take a deep breath of fresh air before slipping into his suit. It seemed to take longer than usual to get his mask on, and he was greeted by an especially disapproving Karen.
‘Peter, I detect a worrying level of alcohol in your breath. It is my duty to encourage you to remove your suit immediately and call a responsible adult to deal with the situation.’
‘I'm handling it very well, Karen,’ Peter replied, already rushing towards the source of the earlier scream.
However, something felt off. His webs didn’t seem to stick to the buildings like usual, or maybe it was just him, swaying slightly. Above him, the stars danced around the Milky Way. Time felt like it was speeding up and slowing down at once.
Suddenly, doubt crept in.
‘Are you going to tell Tony that I've, er, had a drink or two?’ he asked.
‘As long as you're not seriously injured, I'm not programmed to alert him, but I think that—’
‘Very good, Karen. Keep up the good work!’
That’s when he saw them.
A woman was backed against a wall, surrounded by three men wearing black balaclavas. They wielded baseball bats, brandishing them menacingly as their leather jackets stretched over their muscle-bound arms. Fortunately, the woman didn’t look injured; she eyed her attackers with a surprising amount of courage, considering her stature and her apparent lack of weapons.
‘You little brat, I'll kill you!’ one of the men shouted, leaning in close to her. ‘You’ve ratted us out to the police!’
‘Yeah, and the police won't be long in arriving, so if I were you, I'd run for my life,’ she snapped back fiercely.
‘Hey, hey, hey!’ Peter interrupted, performing a somersault into the scene. ’Leave the lady alone! Three against one isn't very fair, don't you think?’
He tried to land with a roll, but his shoulder hit the ground hard, sending a jolt of pain through him.
The men’s eyebrows lifted slightly, and Peter was sure he saw them exchange confused look.
‘Stay out of this, Webhead, or we'll have to beat you up,’ one of them warned, casually rolling his baseball bat between his fingers.
‘Sorry, but that's not gonna be possible,‘ Peter replied, trying to straighten up. ‘No superhero would let a damsel in distress get mugged without doing something, right?’
‘I'm not a damsel in distress,’ the woman said.
Though, Peter noticed she was backing away, clearly trying to escape.
‘Mind your own business, Spider-Man,’ one of the men snapped. ’It would really bother me to have to hurt you again, but I won't hesitate if I have to.’
‘Maybe you should calm down, sir. Take a deep breath and realize that violence is not the solution to every problem.’
Peter’s senses went suddenly haywire. Normally, he’d have no problem dodging the attack, but before he could react, a sharp pain exploded in his knee. His leg buckled, and he collapsed to the ground with the grace and discretion of a rhinoceros.
He tried to throw a web at his assailant to immobilise him, but, for the first time, his webbing missed miserably and crashed into a nearby trash.
Even the attackers were taken aback. As for the woman, she had vanished into the night. Peter was relieved: at least, whatever happened, he would have helped her.
The only problem was that now, he was in a tricky situation.
‘What's the matter, Spider-Man? A little drop in performance?’ one of the men taunted, swinging his bat toward him.
‘Oh, you're worried about my health? That's sweet, but don't worry, I'm fine!’
He dodged the baton with a near miss; the wind whistled past him, and after a quick jump, he managed to land a punch to the man’s temple.
The guy dropped to the ground in a heap.
‘And one down! Anyone else want to try their luck?’ Peter joked, turning to face the remaining two. ‘Not all at once, please!’
‘Will you shut up, Webhead? You're really testing our patience!’
‘Sorry, sorry! I get told that a lot, but I promise I'm working on it!’ said Peter as he managed to wrap the second man in a web, knocking him off his feet.
He tried to do the same for the third man, but failed when in a rather mysterious way, his left foot got caught in the right and he lost his balance. The world spun in a drunken swirl, and just as Peter collided with the ground, he realized he’d be too late to dodge the next blow.
This time, he might not get away as easily as usual...
But the blow never came.
When Peter opened his eyes, he was face-to-face with an officer in an NYPD uniform. She was kneeling on top of the third man, her knee pressed into his throat as she cuffed him effortlessly.
‘You're under arrest,’ she recited coolly. ‘You have the right to remain silent. Anything you say can and will be used against you in a court of law. You have the right to an attorney and—’
She rattled off the Miranda rights without pausing to breath, which was as impressive as terrifying. Then, noticing Peter’s wide-eyed stare, she looked up and gave him a very thin smile.
‘Hey, Spider-Man. Looks like I got here in time. You're not feeling too hot, are you?’
‘Not really,’ Peter admitted, slowly getting back to his feet. ‘Those guys had definitely not been faking with those bats.’
‘Not too many injuries? Can you stand?’
‘Just a few bruises, I should be fine, I just need to—’
He tried to take a step forward, but pain shot through his knee, and everything seemed to blur again. The next moment, the officer was supporting him firmly, and his masked face were sinking into her black hair. She had a strong grip, which reminded him of Tony's.
‘Whoa, easy there, Spider-Man. Please don't faint on me. It would mean a lot of paperwork for me, and I have no desire to spend my evening at the station.
‘S-sorry, ma'am.’
‘Captain,’ she corrected. ‘Captain Yuri Watanabe.’
‘Oh. Nice to meet you, Captain. Your hair smells so good.’
‘And you smell a lot like alcohol, for a superhero. Did you fall into a distillery?’
‘Ahem, it’s… um... I can explain.’ Peter mumbled, his face burning beneath the mask.
The Captain’s smile widened. ‘Relax, Spider-Man, I'm not going to take you to the station. First off, I wasn't supposed to be on duty tonight. Secondly, I don't think there's a law against superheroes drowning their sorrows in a bottle of vodka. And thirdly, you were a big help to my partner, so it would be inappropriate to thank you by handcuffing you.’
‘Your... partner?’ Peter repeated, confused.
‘The woman you saved. She and I work together. Unfortunately, it seems those guys figured that out. If it hadn't been for you, I don't know what state I’d have found her in...’
Peter blinked in surprise. ‘Whoa, so I saved a policewoman?’
She nodded. ‘Yes. Normally, the NYPD doesn't exactly have a soft spot for you, Spider-Man, but since you helped my partner, I'm willing to make an exception. You look like you need a ride, and my car happens to be parked nearby. Can I give you a lift?’
Peter decided instantly that he liked her. She had a strong character. And she didn’t even seem to suspect she was dealing with a fifteen-year-old superhero.
OOO
‘Don't you have a flashing light?’ Peter asked, surprised, as he sank into the seat of the Captain's car.
He fumbled with the seat belt for a few moments before finally managing to buckle it. The policewoman next to him watched him with an amused grin.
‘Not tonight. I told you, I wasn't supposed to be on duty. Not to mention, I don't want to attract attention. My colleagues would choke on their saliva if they saw you with me.’
‘Too bad,’ sighed Peter, sinking more comfortably into his seat. ‘I’ve always dreamed of taking a ride in a real police car.’
‘Just because we don't have a flashing light doesn't mean it’s not a real police car,’ Captain Watanabe replied.
‘Still... it would have been more fun... beep beep beep beep...’
‘My God, you're really... oh, never mind, Yuri, you can see that poor spider's not in its right mind.’
‘Hey, you know I can hear you?’
She ignored him and started the car.
Although focused on driving, she shot him occasional skeptical glances, and with good reason: he was looking more and more lethargic in his seat. His heart felt it was rising up into his throat, disrupting his breathing—as though something were blocking his oesophagus, like the travel sickness he used to get after long car rides with May.
‘If you're going to throw up, let me know,’ the Captain said suddenly. ’My seats are brand new, and I'm not sure the insurance company would believe me if I told them that a half-drunk superhero decided to empty his stomach on them.’
‘N-no, I don't think so,’ muttered Peter. ’I'm mostly just... a little dizzy... and the starlight is... very, very bright. It looks like glowing whales.’
‘Glowing wha—okay, how many drinks have you had, Spider-Man?’
‘I... er... five, I think? We played tequila-pong. I didn't really count.’
‘Tequila-pong? My God, how old are you?’
He didn't reply; luckily the Captain didn't seem to mind.
‘I hope you at least won,’ she said, pulling the car carefully in front of Stark Tower. ‘Make tomorrow's hangover worth it.’
‘Of course!’ Peter exclaimed. ’I won hands down!’
‘Good, I'm relieved. We're here, buddy.’
She unfastened her own seatbelt and opened her door. Peter froze.
‘Y-you're... you're coming with me?’
‘I can’t just let you wander around. It wouldn't be responsible. You asked me to bring you back to Tony Stark, and I won't feel right until I know you’re safe with him.’
‘B-but... but...’
She raised an eyebrow.
‘Is there a problem?’
Peter bit his tongue. What could he say to her? He couldn't admit that he was only fifteen, that he wasn’t supposed to be drinking, that he’d promised Tony he’d be wise, and that showing up at the Tower in the middle of the night, escorted by the police, would definitely not be a good look. It would immediately blow his cover, and as understanding as Captain Watanabe might be, he wasn’t sure her indulgence would survive the truth.
Fighting the urge to disappear from Earth, Peter limped after her into the Tower’s lobby. He listened as she very seriously announced to the receptionist:
‘NYPD. Please tell Tony Stark that I have an urgent package for him.’
The receptionist seemed confused but complied without asking questions.
Peter squeezed his eyes shut, praying that Tony wasn’t there, that he’d fallen asleep, that he’d forgotten about the evening, or that he—
‘Can I ask what the NYPD is doing in my tower?’
Oh no. Not only was Tony there, but he also seemed to be in a terrible mood. When Peter dared to peek, he saw Tony turn pale, his eyes darting between him and Captain Watanabe, the situation taking shape in his mind.
‘Good evening, Mr. Stark. Captain Watanabe, it's a pleasure to meet you,’ the woman replied without blinking. ‘I have with me someone who, I believe, knows you. Spider-Man?’
‘H-hey, Tony,” Peter stammered, his voice small.
Tony looked like he'd bitten into a lemon.
‘He was about to get knocked out by a thug when we met,’ the Captain explained. ’And he didn't seem fit to be walking around unsupervised. He asked me to bring him here.’
Peter wanted nothing more than to turn around and run away. To go back in time. To erase that evening from the calendar.
Disappear. Disappear. Disappear.
Tony's mouth tightened into a thin, menacing line. The Captain must have sensed the tension because she added, in a softer voice:
‘Don't be too hard on your friend, Mr. Stark. He saved my teammate.’
She placed a reassuring hand on Peter's shoulder.
‘You’ll just have to keep an eye on his knee. I think he took a pretty hard hit. Will you be all right, Spider-Man? Can I leave you here?’
‘Y-yes,’ Peter whispered. ’T-thank you, Captain. For your help, and for the ride, and for… everything.’
‘It's no problem,’ she replied, with a touch of impatience. ’If you ever need to call the police, call me. I think you and I could help each other out someday.’
She flashed him an amused half-smile.
‘When you've aged a few years.’
With that, she turned to Tony and gave him a vague nod, clearly showing little interest in him.
‘Yes, that's right, thank you, Captain,’ Tony grumbled. ‘Well, have a good evening.’
‘You too, Mr Stark. Spider-Man…’
She gave him a final smile and walked away, leaving him alone with an intrigued receptionist and Tony.
OOO
A thick, syrupy silence immediately fell. Peter’s heart was pounding—too fast—but he didn't dare glance at Tony, not even once.
‘Thanks, Jane,’ Tony said to the receptionist. ’Follow me, Spider-Man.’
He didn't look at Peter either.
They reached the elevator without a word. Peter stared down at his feet, silently praying that Tony would say something, anything, to break the crushing silence. A joke, a sigh, a gentle shoulder squeeze… anything to lift the weight pressing on his chest.
But Tony did nothing.
It felt like an eternity before they reached the top floor. Peter stepped out of the elevator slowly, and dared to look at Tony.
The man was staring straight ahead, motionless.
‘Take off your suit,’ he said abruptly.
‘T-Tony, I—’
‘Take off your suit,’ he repeated, coldly. ‘I need to examine that knee.’
Peter complied slowly. His movements were clumsy, and it took him three tries before he managed to get the suit off. Not for a single moment did Tony make the slightest gesture to help him.
‘Sit,’ Tony ordered when Peter was down to a T-shirt and jeans.
He did, sitting more or less gracefully on the living room sofa. He stretched out his leg and looked at his painful knee for the first time that evening.
It wasn’t quite as bad as he feared, but it wasn’t pretty, either. Purple and black bruises bloomed across the skin like macabre flowers spreading their dark petals. It was tender to the touch, but it didn’t seem broken—just battered.
Tony seemed to agree. He applied some cream, and Peter flinched at the contact, but his guardian didn't seem to notice. There was no nickname, no whisper of reassurance—nothing but silence, and his closed, distant, totally inaccessible expression. As if his heart and his thoughts were triple-locked.
Peter felt the tears welling up in his eyes.
‘Tony, I'm sorry. Really, I—’
‘Silence.’
‘B-but I...’
‘Silence.’
Tony had never spoken to him in that tone before—well, maybe only once, after the ocean liner incident six months ago.
The first tears clung to his lashes.
‘I'm sorry, I wasn't thinking,’ Peter whispered, voice shaking. ‘I just wanted to have fun, like everyone else—’
‘You want to talk? Fine, let's talk,’ Tony snapped, and for the first time, his eyes locked onto Peter’s.
They burned—not with anger, as Peter had feared, but something else… something much worse, much harder to face.
Disappointment.
Crushing, devastating disappointment.
And it was worse, a thousand times worse than anything else.
‘I thought you listened to me. That what I said to you in the car actually meant something. I thought I could trust you. I figured maybe you’d sneak a beer or two—fine. But this? Look at yourself, Peter. Are you proud of this?’
Peter could no longer hold back his tears. His apology died in his throat, chocked by the sobs that shook him.
‘And it’s not just the alcohol. That, I might’ve been able to forgive, with a lot of indulgence. But the fact that you put on your suit while you were drunk—‘
‘I wasn't drunk!’ Peter protested between sobs. ’And that woman—she needed help! I couldn’t leave her! The Captain said...’
‘I don’t care what the Captain said!’
Peter couldn't help but curl up into a ball.
‘Putting on that suit when you weren't fully in control of yourself was the stupidest thing you've ever done, Parker!’
That name—Parker—cut deeper than anything. Tony never called him that.
‘W-what was I supposed to do, then?’ Peter stammered, tears leaving a salty taste on his lips. ’S-she was in danger! You can't stop me from helping people!
‘You had plenty of options!’ Tony shot back. ‘Call the police, call an adult, call me! But no—you had to play the lone hero again, the misunderstood kid with the weight of the world on his shoulder, risking everything without a single thought for the people who care about you!
‘But… I thought—’
‘I don't care what you thought! In your state, you could’ve hurt her. You could’ve missed. And then what? What would we have done, huh?’
Peter was crying so hard now his whole body ached, but Tony didn’t stop.
‘You could’ve hurt yourself. And what would I have done, Peter?’
Peter had never felt so miserable, so ashamed of his life.
He did not know how long he remained there sobbing, as Tony finished treating his knee without even the barest trace of affection. Just cold efficiently, like he was treating a stranger.
And that hurt the most.
After the Vulture incident, when Tony had lost his temper, at least May had been there to hold him, to love him unconditionally. But now….
‘Go to your room,’ Tony said finally, voice weary. ’Forget the suit. I suppose there's no need to tell you that you're grounded?’
This was another blow. Peter had expected anger, but taking the suit away again…?
‘T-Tony, please... Nothing happened in the end! Okay, I messed up, a lot, but no one was hurt. I—I even saved that police officer… y-you can’t—’
Tony let out a cold, mirthless laugh that made Peter shrink further into the sofa.
‘So because no one was hurt, it’s fine? Just tell me, Peter: if Watanabe hadn’t been there, what kind of shape would I have found you in?’ Then, quieter (deadlier): ‘And why am I even bothering? If I want your suit, I’ll take it. End of story. Now go.’
Peter didn't ask if he’s ever get it back. He just nodded, tears still streaming.
His body hurt, he head pounded, his knee throbbed. He cried so hard that he didn’t even remember going to his room, or changing into his pajamas, or crawling under the covers.
He didn't expect to see Tony again that night. So when a figure entered a few minutes later holding a water bottle, his heart leapt—until he realized it wasn’t Tony. It was one of his empty suits.
The man hadn’t even come himself.
‘For tomorrow morning,’ said the suit in Tony’s voice. A detached, flat voice. ’I also have some aspirins suitable for your metabolism.’
‘Th-thank you.. Tony, I-I-I'm s-sorry… please….’ Peter hiccuped. He didn't want to fall asleep without the slightest confirmation that Tony didn't hate him… but the suit didn’t move. Peter hesitated, but couldn’t resist trying a low blow—one he immediately regretted, but was too desperate to take back:
‘If it had been May, she wouldn’t have said anything. She would have understood.’
The suit turned toward him, eyes glowing. And for a moment, Peter felt a flicker of satisfaction—guilt-laced, but real—that he’s at least gotten a reaction.
But the voice was still hollow when it replied:
‘Well, I'm not May.’
Tony’s suit placed the items on the nightstand and turned to leave.
Peter was now desperate, willing to do anything to make Tony soften—so he tried one more shot. One more plea to crack the wall Tony had put between them.
‘You’re not my dad either!’
The suit paused, eyes flickering. ‘You’re right,’ came the reply, calm and impassive. Then it turned and walked out, closing the door behind it.
Tony hated him. Peter was now sure of it.
Tony had saved him after May's death, and this was how he repaid him…
Alone in the darkness, the lump in Peter’s throat grew bigger and bigger and bigger…. Suffocating him… he could no longer breath… Then the lump burst, and the sobs came again, even harder and louder than before.
He buried his face in the pillow, shaking with shame and sorrow, his fingers clutching the mattress like it was the only thing keeping him afloat.