Chapter 5
Peter couldn’t remember the last time he’d slept so peacefully. He’d almost forgotten what it felt like to lie on a soft surface, cozy blankets wrapped around himself. After so many nights spent in the cold embrace of the night, the warmth greeting him in the morning felt unnatural.
Peter jolted awake. The last time he woke up this warm was after passing out in a dumpster, soaked in his own blood with that bullet (Lil Sylver, Deadpool affectionately nicknamed) still stuck inside him. This was a different warmth, one where he’s sunken into a familiar pullout couch with his and Ned’s bodies printed into the mattress. He sat upright, blinking away the tiredness and taking in his surroundings. He started to briefly remember falling asleep in James’ apartment.
Dinner at the Carlton’s is over, the cover is off.
Barnes was only a few feet away, in the little kitchenette filling the air with the smell of fragrant sausage and eggs. He looked back at Peter from the rustling he'd made, noting he's awake. “You better not be a ‘vegan,’” James said almost as a threat, piling eggs onto a plate. “Because I’m not making anything else.”
Peter would and had eaten all that’s been available to him, he had no complaints about sausages and eggs. He shrugged, “Aw man, cause I was really craving king crab for breakfast.” Barnes dryly laughed in return. Peter scanned the room for a clock, but figured he hadn’t gotten one yet after coming up empty. “What time is it?”
“07:45,” James responded in military time.
It hurt Peter’s head to use his brain this early in the morning to convert it to normal time. It actually didn’t take that much brainpower to realize it’s 7:45. That gave him about forty-five minutes to get ready for school. Peter has gotten there earlier with less time. He flopped back down on the bed with a contented sigh. Peter could really get used to this, having a bed to sleep on, waking up to an all American breakfast. It resembled his peaceful life before… before everything.
“Don’t you have school today?” James broke the fantasy. He asked it over the sound of sizzling eggs. Peter’s drowsiness almost made him sound teasing.
“Not for another hour,” Peter muffled into the blankets, rounding up the minutes in his favor.
“You still need to eat. Mrs. Carlton will have my head if you don’t," James pointed out. “And isn’t Dikto a thirty minute walk from here?”
“Five if I run,” Peter stubbornly shot back. He grabbed the pillow and wrapped it over his ears to muffle the impending lecture.
A pillow was not enough to contain his super hearing.
Loud and clear, James’ voice rang out, “I wake up at six in the morning every day…”
Peter lasted thirty more seconds before he couldn’t take it anymore. He threw the blanket off himself for a dramatic flair as he jumped out of bed, stomping over to the kitchen counter. Barnes was doing all this nagging to eat breakfast and he didn’t even have a dining table.
Peter blankly stared at the two lonely stools along the kitchen counter. “You still don’t have a dining table?”
James roughly handed a plate to Peter, it was piled with three eggs and six sausages. “Who here promised me one?”
“Yeah, before you insulted my intelligence,” Peter muttered, still bitter about that day. “I’m meeting the school director, by the way,” Peter bragged with a smug grin. While he knew it wouldn’t interest an old man, Peter still felt the need to rub it in.
Barnes was really good at hiding his jealousy. He didn't look one bit impressed, but Peter knew the fact he was meeting with a middle school director had to be eating him up inside.
Digging into the place of food he handed him, Peter felt incredibly lucky. Last night he had a full course dinner and now he’s even having breakfast the following day. Those meals alone will be enough to endure two weeks of starvation. The barely edible free lunches at Dikto couldn’t count as sustainable food, but he still ate them nonetheless.
Peter had already torn through the fried eggs and sausages during the few minutes Barnes spent cooking his own serving.
His plate, messier than how he served Peter’s, lightly clattered against the kitchen counter. Barnes sat in the stool next to Peter.
Peter looked between his licked-clean, empty plate and Barnes’ hearty serving of three perfectly fried eggs and six sizzling pork sausages.
James felt the staring, slowly turning his head towards Peter. “What?” he sternly asked, prepared for Peter’s shenanigans.
His eyes flickered back to Barnes’ plate and Peter flashed the same innocent grin he gave the Carlton’s last night. “I’m ‘a growing boy,’ he said, quoting Mrs. Carlton to Barnes’s growing annoyance.
James slid over his plate with a defeated sigh, “You’re lucky I’m not that hungry.”
Peter did not need to be told twice. He dug into the plate without another word.
Bucky took out a box of leftovers from the fridge and reheated them on the stove.
Sure, Peter felt a little bad, but suddenly he remembered time was ticking away until school, he had no time for apologies. He quickly washed the dishes as Barnes ate his breakfast
After patting his wet hands dry on his pants, Peter very sophisticatedly placed down the twenty-seven dollars James was coerced into giving him on the counter. In his best attempt at a posh voice, he slid it across the counter, “My tip, fine sir.” Peter was well aware that the Met admission fee for New York students could be as low as one cent, and he knew that a perfect penny was keeping Ned’s storage unit slightly open.
All that junk about a ten dollar fee was just to mess with Barnes in front of the Carlton’s.
Barnes stared at the generous tip for a moment, the grip on his fork started to resemble a weapon more and more. Relief washed over Peter when James looked away from the cash and resumed eating. He then flatly said, “It’s yours. You tricked us fair and square.”
Peter almost didn’t believe the Mr. Generous act. He picked up the twenty seven dollars and tried personally handing it to Barnes. “Come on, man. I was only messing with you last night. The Carlton’s aren’t around to peer pressure you anymore.”
Barnes frustartedly put down his fork. “You’re making me feel like a hooker,” he bluntly said. “Paying me first thing in the morning? Come on, Parker.” Peter tried to remain unphased at the confirmation they were still Barnes and Parker. He thought they closed that distance last night, but if Barnes thought they didn’t then neither did Peter. Anymore. Cool. Peter was glad Barnes continued talking over his very minor freak-out. “I made you breakfast. Be a gentleman, at least give me a ‘thank you.’”
Peter grimaced, caught off guard by the joke and amazed Barnes was even capable of that much. “Geez, a maid or chef would’ve been a better comparison.” Then Peter modestly tucked the cash back into his pocket, “…but if you insist. And thank you, seriously.”
Barnes had to process the gratitude, eventually he shook his head. “No, that doesn’t feel right. Go back to being an ungrateful shithead.”
Peter chuckled at their usual back-and-forth ‘Barnes and Parker’ bickering. At least that was still the same. Why is Peter even thinking like that? Of course nothing has changed!
Peter scooped up his backpack from where he dropped it last night and dug out the free toothbrush from his last dentist appointment a year ago. In true leech and ungrateful Parker fashion, he showed himself to the bathroom. “Hope you don’t mind me using your toothpaste,” he called out, already squeezing out a dollop of the minty paste.
Breath free of eggs and pork, Peter moved on to tidying up his appearance as best he could. He smoothed out the slightly wrinkled clothes that he slept in and also wore for last night’s dinner. His classmates saw him repeat this set of clothes twice this week, but considering he got in a shower yesterday the ridicule shouldn’t be too bad.
Peter left the bathroom content with his appearance and strapped on his backpack. “I’m heading to school as you requested,” Peter told Barnes. “What time is it now?”
Barnes checked his wrist. “08:15…” He said as he turned to face Peter. “Aren’t you gonna change?” Barnes noticed the only significant change was Peter’s bed head being combed out (combed out as in Peter ran his hands through it).
“Eh, it’s fine,” Peter shrugged. “I convinced everyone I wear the same thing everyday to look like a cartoon character.”
Barnes knew better than to ask about Peter’s home life. He liked that about him. Meanwhile Matt’s moral compass was all over the place, he doesn’t wanna know why a teenager is fighting criminals at three in the morning but will find out how long ago said teenager’s last meal was. Matt had pried too much, walking on eggshells around him and treating Spiderman like a little kid. Besides their first few encounters, Barnes learned to never question Peter and Peter will never question Barnes in return.
Barnes rose from the stool to grab a duffle bag. It’s new, Peter didn’t remember it being there the first time he was in the apartment, then again a lot of this stuff wasn’t here last time. Barnes balled up a red bit of fabric and tossed it to Peter from across the room. As it unraveled in the air, Peter caught the flimsy red Henley shirt. Peter doesn’t really know how to define his fashion style when he can only wear any item of clothing available. He fondly rubbed the polyester fabric with his thumb, knowing he’s worn worse than red henley’s.
Peter noticed the price tag was from the same thrift store he frequents. Barnes is quick at finding out the best spots in Queens, first Delmar’s and now this thrift store. Peter ripped off the price tag and removed his first few layers of his shirts. The crew neck and the patterned button up under it had to go, Peter actually isn’t that sure his classmates are buying that cartoon character coverup.
Under those two layers, Peter wore a thermal shirt and another long sleeve. He had to keep those on if he didn’t want to become a shivering mess in seventy degree weather. Peter pulled on the red shirt over his two layers.
Peter spread out his arms. “How do I look?”
Peter almost mistook Barnes’ scowl for a smile. After a silence that lasted too long, Barnes finally answered, “Stupid.” In a tone too similar to May’s, he added, “Get to school already.”
Peter felt the smile spread across his face as he swung on his backpack for the final time. It quickly turned into a frown when he saw the grey duct tape keeping the door closed. He carefully peeled back half of it and used it to pull the door open.
Already halfway out, Peter stopped himself from shutting the door behind him. He looked over his shoulder to face Barnes. “That dining table…” he waited for Barnes’ reaction before continuing.
He slightly perked up, picking up his shoulders to show he was listening.
“We could pick it up after school,” Peter said. To himself, he whispered under his breath, “If my penny is still there.”
“Sounds good,” Barnes said, much quicker than Peter had expected. He thought there would be a solid minute of silence before he spoke and ultimately rejected the offer.
Peter couldn’t hide the surprise from his face. “Wait, really?” He skeptically asked.
“Be here by 1500,” Barnes said. “Deal’s off if you’re late.”
Peter winced at the reminder of his tardiness yesterday. In his defense, Spiderman tends to lose track of time when stopping out of control cars going a million miles a minute.
“School’s out at 15:20…” Peter began to estimate how long it would take him to arrive at Barnes' apartment. “If I don’t stop to pet any dogs… I’ll see you around… 15:35?”
“I’m negotiating the deal here, Parker,” Barnes insisted though it only sounded like he was trying to convince himself
“Would you look at the time,” Peter said, checking his nonexistent watch. “I'm running late, Barnes. See you 15:35!” Peter sprinted up the stairs before Barnes could object.
He arrived at school twenty seven seconds before the bell rang.
-
The damn near perfect school day kept Peter on edge all afternoon. To start off, no one gave him shit for debuting a new shirt. In fact, people complimented him! Peter is still trying to figure out if they were backhanded, but either way he’ll take the compliments. Then lunch rolled around and the lunch lady gave him the biggest serving a Dikto student had ever seen. Sure, the food is completely slop nine out of ten times, but this was the lucky ten percent. Public school spaghetti and meatballs were the equivalent to the Michelin Star itself. Later, he turned in the Met field trip permission slip without a single bump in the road. Peter swore Mr. Kleiman was going to pull out a magnifying glass and put on his detective hat to inspect it for forgeries. All he did was glance it over and stuff it into a file labeled The Met 2014.
All things considered, today had been a pretty solid day. Peter was waiting for how long it would last.
At 15:20 on the dot, the bell rang out to signal the end of his final class. Peter stops by his locker at the end of every day. There’s always a textbook to put away or a notebook to collect. Ned was always there waiting for him, somehow getting there first despite his last class being as far as possible from Peter’s locker.
Being such a perfect day, Peter actually beat Ned there for once. He rubbed it in Ned’s face when he arrived shortly after Peter.
Ned instantly defended his case while Peter fiddled with his locker combination. Finally getting it open, his miscellaneous knickknacks crammed inside came tumbling out avalanche style.
“…he totally lost my es… say.“ Ned’s head dropped to the small pile of junk gathered at their feet.
This was the stroke of misfortune Peter was waiting for all day. He probably goes to his locker a dozen times a day, but of course now is when it chooses to throw up all over him. He’s gonna be later for his… appointment? Meeting? Whatever a furniture pick up categorizes as — with Barnes.
Peter saw Ned’s eyes soften when the boy realize it wasn’t just school supplies and, for lack of a better word, toys. There was clothes, an out of service cell phone, mail, hardware tools, and increasingly personal items laid out on the floor. He was grateful Ned went on about his lost essay while he helped Peter shove everything back into his locker. It was when Ned picked up Ben’s ratty leather wallet when the both of them tensed up.
Peter quickly snatched the wallet from Ned’s hands. “Uh, in case I need pocket money,” he unconvincingly said, fiddling with Ben’s wallet.
Ned clearly didn’t believe it. “Is your new uncle, like… not giving you any space?”
“No, no!” Peter instantly said. “We just… His Russian furniture hasn’t come in yet. I’m not trying to turn his place into a crow’s nest already.” Peter hurriedly put in the last of his junk and closed his locker with a firm slam without another word between them.
The pair began walking towards the main exit. Most of the students already cleared out of the building by now, leaving the hallways an unusual but calm sense of quiet.
Ned seemed to buy that last-minute cover story enough to eagerly ask, “So when do I get to meet the guy? Russians are supposedly super stoic. I can’t see anyone related to May being stoic, no offense man.”
Peter let out an internal sigh of relief. He relaxed his shoulders and tight jaw, melting to his usual self. “I can be stoic,” he insisted with a shake of his head as he pushed open the school doors. Peter didn’t want to ruin the mood again by reminding Ned he was never related to May, by blood at least.
Ned chuckled. “Yeah right, you’re the most…” Ned trailed off mid-sentence, his voice faltering as he abruptly stopped in his tracks.
Peter followed Ned’s gaze to land on none other than James Reilly. Students tossed him looks as they walked past the man, whispering theories and remarks between each other. Peter was forced to pick up every word. They commented on his good looks, wondered if he was a pervert dating a high schooler, possibly he’s a new teacher touring the school.
The overlapped whispers came to an immediate halt when Barnes called out, “Peter!”
All the chatter must’ve stopped. Peter could still hear the faint overlapping talk, but it seemed like the world was put on pause. Maybe it didn’t, either way the deafening silence that followed Barnes was dramaticized by Peter’s fucked up hearing.
Peter’s stomach started churning. Who the hell gets picked up from school anymore? Everyone either walks, takes the bus, or subway. Peter can imagine the talk tomorrow: Puny Parker was picked up by his Guardian of the Week. How long until this one dies?
Peter felt the eyes follow him as he rushed up to Barnes. Ned was barely a step behind, following closley with his voice barely above a whisper, “No way, is this the uncle?”
“Uh huh.” Peter’s voice cracked despite coming out barely a breath. Was it too late to pray that Barnes wouldn’t embarrass him?
“Cool,” Ned approved with a nod. “Definitely a stoic Russian.”
Peter didn’t have time to respond to Ned’s surprisingly accurate observation. He cleared his throat and forced the best chipper voice he could manage. “What’s up, James! Quit scowling, everyone’s thinking you’re about to flash middle schoolers.”
James raised his eyebrows to silently ask, Are you serious? He knew Peter’s sense of humor was somewhere between ridiculous and downright distasteful.
Peter might have been exaggerating a little bit. It was close enough to the truth for him to nod in response.
“Hi,” Ned said awkwardly with a stiff but amazed smile. “I’m Ned. Peter’s best friend.”
“The Han Solo guy?” James recalled with a grin. “Peter’s mentioned you.”
Oh god, Peter could not believe Barnes just said that. He had told Barnes about that comparison in confidence, never imagining he would bring it up again, let alone even remember it.
Ned shot Peter a teasing look as he said, “Yes.” Grinning from ear to ear, he proudly claimed the title, “Yes, I am the Han Solo guy.”
“I’m James, but I’m sure you already knew that,” he replied.
“I did,” Ned admitted, still grinning.
Peter needed to separate them immediately. If James let out that they’re heading to pick up a dining table, Ned without a doubt would know which one. Then it would only snowball into a mess of questions Peter can’t answer.
Very casually and smoothly, Peter sharply said, “Ned, doesn’t your bus leave in two minutes?”
“Mhm,” Ned was still awestruck and rooted in his place. It took Peter gently nudging Ned for him to remember his priorities, curfew and homework. Ned dragged his feet as he headed to the crosswalk where his bus would shortly arrive.
All the way across the street, Ned’s gaze was still fixed on Peter and Barnes. When he climbed into the bus and settled on a window seat, his eyes were still glued on them.
Peter and James were no better, putting up with the ridiculous staring contest. They wiped off their stupid, friendly smiles as soon as the bus rolled away.
Peter sighed out through his teeth. Still looking at the bus in the distance he gritted out, “You just had to bring up Han Solo.”
James shrugged. “What am I supposed to do? I come here 15:20 on the dot and you walk out those doors 15:29.”
Peter’s irritation steadily grew, building up from his locker avalanche only a few minutes prior. “I’m going to smash your watch,” he calmly said, but the restraint in his voice made it evident it’s a threat.
James didn’t waver in the slightest. He slid up the sleeve of his human arm and lifted it up, revealing an old and frankly Industrial Revolution looking watch. “It’s vintage,” he said as though Peter couldn’t tell from a mile away.
Peter looked closely at the yellowed clock face and leather strap in pristine condition. Peter clocked it as the watch stolen from the Smithsonian around the same time they met.
“Oh, very nice,” Peter pretended to admire the watch, gently brushing his hand over the glass. He then gripped Barnes’ wrist and pulled it closer. “Where’s it from? 1930s, the Great Depression collection?” Peter roughly released Barnes from his hold.
Barnes rubbed his wrist where Peter’s grip left a mark. Peter felt a sting of guilt seeing the red bruised skin. After being so used to not holding back against Barnes’ metal arm, Peter didn’t intend to do that.
Without another word, Barnes turned on his feet and started walking.
Peter followed behind Barnes from a safe distance. “Where’re you going now?” He called after him in curiosity.
“Dining table,” Barnes responded without faltering his speedy strut.
“You’re going the complete opposite way,” Peter pointed out.
Barnes paused long enough for Peter to catch up. Peter waited for Barnes to reveal he’s been wearing a stolen antique set of earrings this entire time. Instead Barnes sighed out, “Lead the way, Peter.”