Fantastic Job

The phone rang, and Steve picked it up without much thought. People called him all the time. Peter, specifically, didn’t do that much, but he still called at least once a week, to ask for help with a homework question, or share an interesting idea he had just thought of and wanted to share to someone.

He put the phone to his ear, “Hello?”

“Can you come pick me up?” Peter’s voice was quiet and raspy, even through the tinny sound of the phone.

Steve pulled the phone back to look at the time, even though it was clearly dark out through the windows. Maybe he had just gotten the windows tinted and forgotten about it. Nope, it was sundown.

“Out with friends?” He guessed.

“Er, no. At school. I think Tony forgot, but maybe he’s just busy.”

Steve paused, his thoughts grinding to a halt. He wanted to say that Tony would never forget his notoriously map-blind son at school like this, but… yeah, that sounded like him. Just amped up more than he had expected.

“Okay, that’s- that’s not okay,” he said carefully, to make sure Peter knew that, “I’m coming to pick you up, okay?”

Peter agreed, and clicked the phone off abruptly. Steve just needed to grab his keys and shoes before he was heading out, but he made sure to dial Tony while he was backing his car out of the driveway.

He didn’t pick up. Of course he didn’t. Responsible kid like Peter would’ve called him before resorting to Steve, because he was meant to be the ride home.

Going off a hunch, he then dialed the work phone. One ring. Two rings. Shit, he was going too hard on the gas pedal and needed to calm down-

“Yello, this’s Stark Auto Repair,” Tony’s voice came out of the speaker, and Steve could feel a headache building up when he heard the distinct slur in his words. He brought the car down to twenty, eyes fixed on the road and phone set to speaker.

“Why aren’t you picking up your regular phone?”

“Sheesh, you’re so rude,” he sounded the least bit bothered by this blatant show of irresponsibility.

He had to force himself to remain calm, because otherwise it was just going to look like he was mad at Peter for making him drive out to pick him up, when that was really the last thing he was concerned about.

Once that was over with, he was going to have to talk to Tony some more. And maybe he should call Bucky, to make sure he didn’t go overboard.

Peter was still sitting alone, now on the steps of his house, looking at the rain coming down. Rain was a nice noise – when there weren’t any vehicles on the road or pedestrians walking around to splash noisily – so, he kept his headphones off to listen to it. And also the conversation happening inside.

Steve and Tony were good friends. That’s what everyone said. Peter didn’t know how that could happen when they yelled at each other as much as they did. He’s pretty sure that classified as them being Bad Friends, at the very least. It was just a strange thing to lie about. If they didn’t like one another, then why pretend to be friends?

Anyways, they were yelling again now. It was about Peter. He was starting to notice that a lot of these fights were about Peter. But they always made him sit out of it, as if he shouldn’t have to be hearing this. As if one wrong fight didn’t mean never seeing Steve again ever.

“Shit, what is your problem? The kid was fine! Sue me for forgetting just once.”

“It was nearly dark out, Tony! And yeah, you can be sued. For goddamn child endangerment!”

It wasn’t the first time they’d had this exact argument. Really, some lines were being used exactly from a similar conversation he remembered from last year, around the time when Aunties Nat and Lena took him camping to get away from the fireworks.

And same as back then, another adult swooped in to cover for them. This time, the more familiar face of Bucky, leaning over Peter’s shoulder to look at him upside down. Peter made sure to make his face look as glum as possible and not react, but when Bucky blinked three times quickly, he scrunched his nose up and broke the rules of his sulk.

“That can’t be fun to hear.” He noted casually, settling down next to Peter, leaning back on his arms. Bucky was really strong. Peter remembered him once lifting him in a bicep curl when he first started classes with Steve. Could he still do that now?

“Man, you’re right. This is a terrible conversation we’re having.” Bucky decided by himself when he received no response, visibly thinking on it before saying, “Uh, how’s regular high school?”

“Wouldn’t you know?” Peter asked, almost in surprise. He thought everyone in Tony’s circle had gone to regular school, with how much they commented on it.

Bucky laughed lightly, “I actually went to a military prep school. ‘Regular’ school is public school. And I meant to ask how your experience with it has been.”

Peter thought on it for bit, finding that he couldn’t recall more than a few snapshot memories of the experience. He wanted to say that school was floaty, but that wasn’t a good descriptor, so instead he settled on saying, “It’s very loud.”

Another laugh, but Peter didn’t think it was at his expense – unless Peter had severely mischaracterized his sense of humor, it was completely at odds with who Bucky was – so he tried to settle for cracking an uncertain smile.

“Yeah, that checks out. Not too bad of a loud, though?”

“I have my headphones. Usually.”

Bucky hummed sympathetically, “Guess they won’t let you wear them in the classes. How else are you supposed to hear the teachers?”

“Not like I can understand them, anyway,” Peter mumbled, not really connected to the previous statement but still a pressing enough grievance that he needed to get out. And now that the first complaints were aired out, the rest tumbled from within him, “None of them make any sense, and they say they’ll explain, but they don’t, and when I ask questions, sometimes my classmates answer, but everything gets muddled up and I don’t realize they’re talking to me-” he cut himself off to grumble wordlessly.

Peter hadn’t ever realized that vocalizations like that were meant to be funny, but the few times he’d managed to get into conversation with classmates and used that to express his frustration, it had drawn a few giggles, so he had carefully begun training himself out of it. Except he forgot this time.

He froze lightly, waiting for Bucky to huff out a laugh, like he did when he experienced something so funny he had to laugh, even if it ruined his ‘grumpy image’.

No such sound came.

“It must be hard,” Bucky finally replied, sounding genuine, “Sorting information always came slow to you. Maybe you can make the best of a bad situation and try to get better at it like this?”

“Maybe.” Peter replied, hugging his knees. No words came to him now, even though just a second ago it felt like he had so much to complain about. It didn’t make sense why he disliked high school so much. The place really wasn’t much different than being homeschooled by Steve. It was ust a knew experience, like Tony had said, and that was why he was reacting badly to it.

And Bucky was right, too. This was a learning opportunity. Before this, he was surrounded only by people who indulged him – even Tony did that, to a lesser extent than most – or whose brains worked similarly to his. Most people weren’t going to fit into those two categories, and high school was the perfect place to make his peace with that.

Already, he was learning valuable information, such as what vocalizations were appropriate in conversation. (Hint: none except for the ones that arbitrarily were. Best to cut them all out. Maybe just don’t speak at all.)

“Is it only the class environment that’s giving you trouble?” Bucky asked, “Figured you’d have a lot more issue with your classmates and other petty school stuff. Heard it’s a trope to hate school food.”

“Steve makes me food for lunch.” Peter told him, “But… yeah, the regular stuff there is all mixed up and served wrong.” He shuddered, but mostly for dramatic effect. It wasn’t his business how other people ate their food, like how no one could judge the way he ate.

Peter suddenly remembered when he had shared that tidbit of advice with Tony, and the man had laughed and made a comment of Peter finally learning about empathy. Suddenly he couldn’t find it in himself to laugh at his own joke.

“-could at least show some remorse!” The yell came out through the door that was shut tight behind them. Steve’s voice.

“Make any friends?” Bucky asked, and it was obvious he was trying to keep Peter’s mind off the situation at hand. Which didn’t make much sense, because Peter was doing fine at distracting himself on his own, but the company wasn’t unappreciated.

He shook his head, “They all know I’m different. So they don’t really want to hang out.”

Bucky squinted, “Are you just saying that because you think they don’t want to interact with you and thus haven’t made any effort, or because someone’s said something like that to you?”

The back of his throat was bitter. His eyes really itched. If he spoke, he knew his voice would be shaky, but he liked Bucky, so he would have to respond. He tried to gather his nerves, and speak carefully, but couldn’t help the few cracks in his voice, “No, er. They said that. Very explicitly. Some of them told me they heard petrol fumes made my brain messed up.”

Hearing the words aloud again made him realize how much that had hurt. He always made excuses for that kind of thing, because it didn’t actually, physically hurt, so it couldn’t have been meant in bad faith. It was an innocent comment made by someone who didn’t know any better, so he wasn’t allowed to hold it against them.

But it had hurt. It had really hurt.

Peter wasn’t broken, okay? He wasn’t. (But if he wasn’t then why was he crying-?)

Bucky didn’t respond immediately, taking a second to gather his thoughts, before concluding, “That’s shit, kid.”

“Teenagers are meant to be the worst.” Peter quoted a line he had picked up from somewhere – probably TV, but it was true so what did it matter – and he didn’t even know why he was defending people whose faces he didn’t even remember.

“I mean, because they don’t know anything at that point.” Bucky replied, “If they’re told that these things aren’t okay to say, and explained why that is, then they have the tools to decide to be assholes on purpose. That’s why it’s shit that they could say that to you in the middle of a school without anyone stepping in to correct them.”

Oh. Alright. That… made sense.

“I don’t think there were any teachers nearby to hear the comment, so they wouldn’t know to step in.” Peter noted, thinking back to the incident.

“Well, at least this was happening three feet away instead of directly under their noses,” Bucky sniffed, “You told them that wasn’t right to say? Tell anyone else about this?”

“No,” Peter shook his head, before remembering that it was two questions being asked, “And no to the other one, too.”

Bucky nodded, slow and contemplative, “I’m not registered with the school as someone responsible for you, so there’s not much I can do for you on that end. I’ll talk to Steve, and he’ll bring it up to the teach. Knowing him, he’s gonna rip the whole administration a new one and that’ll be the end of that. As for the issues with the classes themselves…”

He hesitated, then. Looked at Peter for a long moment, before finally saying, “Now, I don’t want to get your hopes up about this. But Steve has been working with the school to get you a Personalized Education Plan.”

“What’s that?” Peter asked. He didn’t know most of the terminology used for classes in school. This sounded like some sort of remedial track, though. Just based off context clues.

“Special structure and teaching style built around your needs.” Bucky replied, phrasing it like he was simply repeating off a definition he had found online, and not like he actually knew what it was.

Peter blinked, not sure if he had heard that right. He couldn’t fathom how he had misheard an entire sentence this badly, but it didn’t make any sense for this program to be – “Wh- you just described homeschooling.” He pointed out, the betrayal utterly perplexing. Were they trying to break the news of giving up on public school to him gently?

He didn’t mind, really. Both methods of teaching worked pretty much the same.

But Bucky shook his head, “I mean, it kinda is that? But from what Steve tells me, it’s different because it’s in a school environment, surrounded by other kids, who are on about the same level as you. Better for your socialization, and makes sure you can understand what’s being taught, instead of Steve having to re-explain it every weekend.”

Right. Steve had better things to do than constantly help Peter. Why hadn’t he told Peter? He always told Peter what decisions were being made and what was happening around him. Was this meant to be a secret, so that he wouldn’t be too disappointed upon finding out that Steve had gotten tired of having Peter around, and Bucky simply hadn’t know that it was a secret?

His thoughts were whirling about in a panic. Which was a sign that he might be overexaggerating.

“Why didn’t anyone tell me about this before?” Peter asked, trying to stay calm.

“Because he didn’t want to get your hopes up about it.” Bucky said, “It’s kind of a new idea, he thought up a few days ago to present to the school.”

“They can say no?” Peter asked incredulously, “Thought they were meant to help children learn.”

Bucky snorted, but Peter didn’t see what was so funny about that, and the man didn’t bother explaining either as he continued, “That doesn’t happen so much in practice. But them saying no isn’t so much an issue as Tony shooting down the plan. He calls the shots on you, remember?”

That checked out. Peter was transferred to high school so that he would have a normal experience of life, and Tony wasn’t a big believer in coddling. Said it stopped people from learning how to deal with the real world.

But it still didn’t feel fair.

Eventually, Steve came stomping out, but carefully pulling himself back to step carefully, letting out a careful breath. He was trying to make it look like he wasn’t angry, which tended to put Peter on edge, but it also put him on edge when it felt like things were being hidden from him. There was no winning in this scenario.

“Okay, I think we’re done here,” he decided, turning to Peter, “He’s not going to forget again, I’ve made sure of it.”

“He’s drunk, isn’t he?” Peter asked, though it didn’t need to be confirmed. He had heard the way Tony had been slurring his words when the argument had first sparked. It had become clearer as their volume had raised, but it wasn’t likely that he had sobered up in less than an hour.

Steve cringed, but thankfully respected him enough to nod, “It’s not as bad as when you were younger,” he tried to soften the blow, “but you can gather some things you need and come to our place to spend the night if you want.”

Peter thought it over, remembering long nights listening to movement downstairs, and eerily silent mornings struggling to pull cereal boxes out of the high shelves and carefully watching it soften in the milk, while the sharp smell of beer and whiskey drifted over from the couch.

“I would like that.” he agreed, feeling unsure of the words even as he said it, “Will Tony allow that?”

Steve smiled tightly, “I’m sure that if you ask him, he’ll agree.”

Not a very convincing answer. Peter hoped his face looked as unimpressed as he felt when he stood up to head back inside. All he could force himself to do was poke his head in to call out, “Tony, can I stay the night at Steve’s?”

For a second, there was silence, until there was the sound of a couch cushion tumbling to the ground, followed by Tony huffing, “Sure. Whatever the fuck.”

Great. Peter went upstairs to gather the sleepover bag he always had packed, and darted back out before Tony could change his mind again.

He made a beeline for the backseat of Steve’s car – the side behind the driver’s seat, which was always cemented in Peter’s head as His Side – and tugged at the handle once before the lights blinked to indicate that Steve had unlocked it. Except no blink came out this time.

Peter craned his head back to look at Steve impatiently, “Aren’t we going?”

“Sorry, yes, I-” Steve jolted out of his thoughts to fumble with the car keys, “I was just thinking you got your stuff pretty quickly.”

“I always have it packed.” Peter replied, opening the door but not going into the car, because the windows were electric too and didn’t go down unless the car was turned on. Which it wasn’t.

Bucky patted Steve on the back and went off to grab his motorbike.

“Dad.” Peter said plaintively, trying very hard not to whine because he was supposed to have outgrown that by now, “Come on. Let’s go to your place.”

Steve nodded, and when he turned to look at Peter, he finally understood what it meant when people described others as ‘looking right through them’. But he tried to put on a brave face regardless, clicking his seatbelt and starting the car, “Right, let’s go.”

It was the next morning that Steve finally said something.

“Peter.” A lot of people spoke very delicately with Peter upon piecing together that he had some difficulties. Never Steve, though. Because Steve had taken the time to understand Peter and the level he was on, at every step of his development. Except for now. Peter narrowed his eyes, waiting for him to continue, until he came out and said it, “You know I’m not your Dad, right?”

“Biologically? I know.” Peter agreed, before looking at Steve carefully, “You were the one who said that it took more than that to be a parent.”

Steve winced, “Fair enough, I did say that. But I’m not your adoptive father, either. And I just want to clarify, because sometimes you call me ‘Dad’, and you’ve never called Tony that, so I felt it was reason enough to ask if you thought of me as a father figure.”

Peter shrugged, unsure of how to answer. Did he really think of Steve as a ‘father figure’? What did that even mean? He’d never had a frame of reference for what a parent should look like, except for some descriptions from Steve and the rest of Tony’s friends. And by comparing and contrasting, Steve fit more of the traits than Tony ever did, so Peter figured it was only right for him to have earned that title.

This was a sensitive topic for Steve, for reasons he couldn’t fathom, so he tried to explain this all to Steve in as many words as he could.

Steve nodded carefully throughout Peter’s explanation, “I see where you’re coming from,” he conceded, “This type of behavior is being overlooked for too long.”

Peter tensed, ready to argue, because how was it his fault, now-?

But Steve spoke before he could, “Sorry, should have been clearer. I meant Tony’s behavior. We overlooked that because it felt like he would pull himself together eventually. Now it’s becoming increasingly apparent that that isn’t going to happen, and we should step in. Better late than never.”

“Oh,” Peter said, looking down at the plate of pancakes Steve had made for him for breakfast, “Okay.”

“How do you feel about that?” Steve asked.

Peter shrugged, poking a fork over the pancake to evenly spread the butter across them, but making no moves to eat while a conversation was still happening, “What am I supposed to do with that? Is this going to change anything?”

“I’m not sure. Hopefully, a serious conversation is all it will take to get the point across, but Tony isn’t exactly the type to not let that blow an interaction completely out of proportion.”

Peter nodded along, looking dully at a spot in the table where he had once spilt some sort of acid in a lesson about the pH scale, which had left a hole that was never quite patched up. He tried to focus on what Steve had said, and exactly what an ‘intervention’ would mean.

“Is he… going to have to go to rehab?” he guessed, trying to imagine what that would be like. Tony didn’t seem like he would belong in that type of place, though Peter didn’t know much about rehab, except through news and books and stuff.

Steve clicked his tongue, “Maybe. If it escalates in that direction. Most likely we’re just looking into a lot of therapy.”

“Good for him.” Peter decided, putting the fork down, which was a bad move, because it scraped against the plate and the resulting noise was hideous enough to feel actually painful.

Steve sighed, “I think you might need therapy, too. But there aren’t exactly any in town for me to take you to, so… talk to me whenever you want, alright?” he checked, “Or anyone. I just want you to know that you’ve gotten the short end of the stick here, and any feelings you have about your dad matter.”

Peter made another noise of acknowledgment, because he had nothing more to add to this conversation. Then, to signal that he wasn’t going to be responding anytime soon, he picked up his fork and knife again to start taking apart the pancakes.

Steve made no attempt to get him to start, so that was probably all he wanted to say, except for reiterating the point that Peter had either understood right off the bat, or still didn’t quite grasp.

Taking great care to not scrape the utensils again as he finished up, he finally found a question worth asking: “So, what happens now?”

Steve looked up from where he had been dully staring at the ground, “Ah, well. I’m not sure.” He admitted. That was a rare occurrence. Usually Steve had a vague outline of the events that were meant to happen. Maybe the timeline was fuzzy and didn’t go quite as expected, but him not knowing just didn’t happen.

Still, he forced himself to nod and respond, “Okay.”

“Well, it’s a Saturday,” Steve continued, and Peter couldn’t quite follow his train of thought, “So, do you want to go somewhere? Or are there some things from your classes that you need clarified?”

Peter shook his head, and hesitated over his next question, “When do you think I can go back to Tony’s?”

He was met with similar hesitation from Steve’s side, as he raised a hand to scratch at his neck, “Uh, no one’s keeping you here, exactly. Do you want to go back? I’ll have to go check if he’s sobered up, but you totally can if that’s what you want.”

Peter did think on it, before deciding, “Maybe not today. My Lego sets are still upstairs,” he continued instead, “I’ll just rebuild them.”

Steve nodded, “Well then, lunch will be at one, like always. I’ll be busy until then, but if you give me a call, I’ll try to make time for you.” Peter hummed in agreement, carefully washing the plate in the sink – at Tony’s home, he had to wash the plates otherwise they would never get done. At Steve’s, he wasn’t required to do that, but it was hard to keep track where he was at times, so he washed his plates everywhere – and headed upstairs to his bedroom once the plates were drying on the rack.

There was a large worktable in Peter’s room, taking up almost as much space as the bed, and fully weighed down by his collection of treasured Lego sets. He pushed them around, rearranging the models to drag one of a firetruck from the very back, carefully wiping off the thin film of dust from it.

Brick separator in hand, he began taking it apart, trying to pay attention to how the bricks were pieced together, but not laying the dismantled bricks in a way that would make it obvious how to recreate it. Time to get to work.

The day after that, Peter felt slightly stir-crazy.

He paced around for the better part of the morning, before deciding to finally do something about the source of his discomfort at noon.

“Hey, Steve, I’m heading to Tony’s house,” he explained, leaning in through the door, trying not to look guilty when he hadn’t even done anything wrong.

Steve looked up from his hushed conversation with a person who could only be Nat, and blinked at Peter in a way that made it seem like he had forgotten to blink properly, “Uh, why?” he asked.

“Wanted to check up on him,” Peter said truthfully, and thought about why Steve would ask that, “Am I… not allowed to?”

Steve startled, “Of course you are! Let me just grab my coat and we can go-”

“I know the way,” Peter cut him off, “I can just walk there.”

Steve closed his mouth carefully, but his eyebrows didn’t lose the furrow between them, even as he nodded his assent, “Just call me when you get there, okay?”

Peter nodded, grabbed a light jacket, and headed out.

Nine years of going back and forth between Tony’s and Steve’s houses meant that Peter had had plenty of time to memorize the route.

Steve played a large part in this, as he knew that Peter tended to check out when they were driving back and forth, so he would insist on them walking the whole way sometimes, or just drawing a map with all the relevant landmarks and having Peter call out directions while driving.

He’d done this alone too. Sometimes out of necessity, other times just for fun. Getting to Tony’s place wasn’t really that difficult, once the directions were drilled into his head.

Intellectually, he knew that there was not much difference in the house now than before the fight Tony and Steve had had that Friday – he’d spent longer periods of time away from the house, even – and yet something seemed undeniably off about the building when he finally made it there, brushing his hair out of his eyes, where it was firmly plastered to his forehead from the sweat.

Peter had paused at the open outside door of the workshop, where Tony would most likely be, trying to make a decision on whether to confront him head-on, or simply sidestep him for now and go straight inside.

Why was he here, anyways? He had told Steve that he wanted to check up on Tony, and that was true. Tony was the type of person that you needed to check on a lot, he had learnt in the years he had watched other people step around Tony’s minefield of idiosyncrasies to make sure that he was awake and alive and functioning.

No one was likely to have done that for Tony right now, because Steve was still mad at him which means no one else would support him either, which Peter understood a little bit, but also couldn’t help but disagree with because Peter had forgotten about meetings and other little-not-so-little things all the time. And it hadn’t been his fault then. So, Peter was supposed to be the bigger person here and forgive him in favor of making sure Tony didn’t need anything.

He didn’t get to make a decision on that, as Tony wandered out of the garage, squinting against the sunlight and looking directly at Peter.

For a moment, neither said anything, Peter’s heart jackrabbiting under the spot where he had a hand pressed against chest, gripping onto his jacket.

Tony grinned brightly, “Pete, long time no see!” he came forward with arms outstretched, pulling Peter into a sidehug that Peter didn’t really mind, except he hadn’t properly gotten the grease off his hands when he had last wiped it with a rag, and now there were ugly brown stains on his jacket. At least Peter could take it off and wash it later.

“Hi, Tony,” he replied.

Tony snorted, flicking him lightly at a spot several inches above his ear that was covered with hair, “You’re just so serious all the time. What’s got you so uptight now, kid?”

“Nothing,” Peter said, and he wasn’t sure if that was the truth or not, but it was the less complicated answer, so that was what he was going to stick with.

“Got bored enough at Steve’s that you came running back without calling me?” Tony asked, and his voice was so light and jovial, Peter felt like he had been set adrift.

Didn’t he realize how mad Steve had been at him because of this? That things were going to change, because apparently forgetting Peter’s home time was a step too far?

Well, that was assuming that things would change, and Steve hadn’t been lying about that. Someone in this situation had to be lying, or misunderstanding, and it couldn’t be Peter for once, and figuring out who it was was making his head spin.

“Yeah.” Peter said eventually, when it became clear that he wasn’t going to figure it out right then, and his distress would only be prolonged.

Tony snorted, and likely didn’t believe him at all – so why bother asking? Peter had to suppress his annoyance at that – but instead said, “Hey, you know I honestly forgot, right?”

“I know.” Peter agreed, because he truly didn’t believe that Tony meant harm, no matter what he did. He was just struggling. It happened to everyone.

“Look on the bright side!” Tony said, already heading back into the garage again, “Now you have an incentive to learn how to walk home. See, you did it just now.”

“From Steve’s house. It took nine years to figure that out,” Peter pushed back gently, “It’ll take a little more time to memorize. And I need to expect it, or I get worried and that makes it harder to focus on the landmarks-”

“Kid, you’re getting worked up,” Tony cut in, “Chill out. I won’t do it again if I can help it, alright?”

“Alright,” he agreed, even though he knew that it was likely to happen more down the line. It was a pattern of behavior with Tony, once he forgot something, or was late on a deadline, then he would do it more and more in a shorter timeframe. That was how he lost a lot of his clients.

After reconciling, it was understood that they would get some time away, so Peter ducked past him in favor of heading inside.

Home seemed alright. All the furniture and big decorations were arranged as always. One good thing about Tony was that he disliked change just as much as Peter, so they never rehauled the place in the entire time Peter had been living with him.

Sometimes Peter wondered if him showing up was one of those sudden changes that always made him want to meltdown, and he felt a little bad about being here.

Maybe Steve was right after all, and a children’s therapist would be helpful. Turns out all the coddling in the world couldn’t stop your mind from thinking you were a mistake.

Peter carefully moved to the couch, picking up cans and glass bottles of mostly beer, but he saw some cheap whiskey here and there – guessing, only. He could barely stand to pay attention to the important items when in a grocery store, he especially didn’t check on how much alcohol cost, just that Tony was constantly complaining about the prices on anything Peter wanted, so it likely had to be inexpensive for him to be able to afford it – and tossed them out into the giant trash can in the kitchen.

His nose wrinkled as his fingers grazed the side of the black trash bag wrapped around it, fruit peels and old takeout already peeking over the brim. This was going to have to be emptied now, but Tony wasn’t in any state to do it.

Whatever. Peter would be staying at Steve’s anyway. Tony could deal with this himself. For now, Peter firmly put the lid down, forcing it shut properly and going to stack the few dirty dishes left around the countertops and into the dishwasher.

Back in the living room, Peter hesitated over the couch, where the cushions had been scattered and rearranged to provide a semi-comfortable place to sleep. This wasn’t a good sign.

Tony didn’t sleep on the couch unless he couldn’t make it up the stairs, which meant that his drinking had gotten heavier than even his usual amount. And when he drank that much, he got into a crying mood.

Crying people made Peter uncomfortable. Especially Tony, who acted so calm and relaxed at all times, until he fully broke down at nights.

When he knew people for long enough, it was inevitable that they asked Peter why he worried over Tony so much, because it wasn’t obvious but Peter did get anxious when not seeing him in more than half a week.

Because it was an understood truth that sometimes people who were alone were a danger to themselves. And Tony was alone because of all the stress that weighed down on him, which Peter had no small part in adding to. It just tracked that Peter had to try and make it up to him. Peter didn’t have to like it, but it was what it was.

He remembered being twelve, and just picking up this responsibility. Offering Tony tissues and water to help soothe the crying a little, only to be met with annoyed hands batting him away. Then, when he noticed Tony trying to stifle the sobs on those bad days, he tried to drown it out by talking, which had just resulted in Tony screaming at him. So, Peter had learned not to do that around people who were upset.

It was kinda self-centered to think that that would help, anyway. If he ever had a friend who needed comforting, Peter wouldn’t have wanted to learn that then.

He finished poking around the place and making sure that nothing was broken too bad – signs of either falling into a rage or having a fit of ‘inspiration’ that usually meant messing with the already decrepit house’s fragile wiring or plumbing. The walls hadn’t been taken apart, and nothing exploded when he flicked the lights on and off and tested the taps, so that fear at least was put to rest.

The final test was the last-ditch upfront strategy. He simply went back to the garage, where Tony was now working on a new car, some client who paid enough to have Tony overlook the cheesy decals all over the hood. Normally, he would have mocked it so much that people would just give up and go somewhere else.

Not a single children’s therapist, but multiple car workshops. Priorities in a small town were… interesting.

“Hey, Tony?” he hesitated at the sidedoor, the awful smell associated with oil changes coating the inside of his mouth.

“What is it, kiddo?” Tony called back, “And if you’re hungry, you can get takeout!”

“I was actually asking if you were… alright.” Peter said instead.

A dry snort, “Kid, I am elbows deep in sludge for some ridiculous old coot to keep us afloat. I don’t think ‘alright’ is a word I’d use to describe myself right now.”

“Oh,” Peter looked down. Right. Stupid question at this point. He should have picked a better time to ask this question. But that time was now unlikely to be today. He shifted from foot to foot, “Well, since you’re alive, I’m… going to go back to Steve’s, okay?”

“Uh huh.” Tony mumbled, “Get out of here, tyke. I’ve got enough on my hands with this stupid – ass – car,” he grunted, the words punctuated by whacking a valve with a wrench.

That settled, Peter went upstairs to his room, where he had previous assignments stacked up on his desk to be completed. It was quiet, with Tony locked up in the garage. Oil changes were much quieter than the regular fare of rumbling engines and scraping metal machines Peter had no interest in learning the workings of.

In the silence, he could instead focus on the homework that was due to be handed in this week. Usually, getting through a single question could take anywhere from ten to fifteen minutes. But now he just happened to be in the right frame of mind to work.

He didn’t know what factors were making it so, or how to ever replicate the environment that somehow made his eyes trace over the words much easier than usual. Focusing on boring things for him was usually an uphill battle, requiring a lot of internal bargaining and struggle. Feeling like this was… rare. And not to be wasted.

He didn’t breeze through them, but it only took an hour to complete all the English Lit questions. Which was very good by his standards. Math came much easier to him, which was why he always left it for last. A tactic Steve taught to him, to make studying go a little bit easier. Hopefully it would become unnecessary later on, when he would only be studying things that he wanted to.

… Peter wasn’t entirely sure what he could like to the extent of being able to study it for months and months, but he thinks he’ll land on something, eventually.

Steve came to pick him up after the sun had gone down, and greeted Tony civilly when Peter went to say goodbye to him. Tony had returned the gesture, not even seeming to remember how they had parted ways the day before screaming at each other.

Peter sat in the back seat on the way back, and Steve was quiet, but it didn’t feel like a good quiet, where they were just enjoying each other’s company. This was more like the forced quiet, where Steve was thinking intently about something. And for once, Peter had a good idea what it was.

“Are you still trying to figure out what to do with Tony?” he asked point-blank.

Steve sighed, which wasn’t a good sound. Mostly people made it because Peter was making them tired. Apparently for the crime of existing. But Steve was also likely just tired, because he made the effort to respond, “Nat’s got friends in social services. Tony’s got a history of getting belligerent and petty when people try to shut his behavior down, so I’m a little concerned about what’s going to happen to you if we try to pressure him to take accountability.”

“Thought I was staying with you,” Peter said, reproachfully.

“Which is what I want, too,” Steve assured him. “It’s just that, you know, if he decides to push back, it’s perfectly within his right to say that you can’t stay with us anymore. Custody rights and that kind of stuff.”

Yeah, that made sense. People were always bringing up custody rights in regards to Peter. No wonder that was the sticking point now, too. Custody and his ‘difficulties’, as people liked to put when they thought they were being sensitive about it.

“What can I do to help?” Peter asked, though it was a bit of a shot in the dark. Courts didn’t even trust normal kids at the best of times. Autistic kids, or anyone with any disability that could be interpreted to affect their mind would be believed less over their current guardian.

“Just keep living,” Steve suggested, which was his sickeningly optimistic way of saying that Peter had no say in anything. “I know school isn’t exactly giving you everything that you need right now, but I want you to at least make connections. Learn how to talk to people.”

Peter nodded, because the man was already stressed enough. He didn’t want to make it any harder. That was how Tony became the way he was.

“I hope you got back home okay, Peter,” someone said to him as he was sitting down at his homeroom seat.

Peter turned to look at them, unsure if they were in fact referring to him and not some other Peter. And then, when he found a blond boy staring intently at him, he very intelligently said: “What?”

“I saw you sitting on the steps when I was going home,” he said, as if it was completely normal to be talking to Peter, “I already leave kinda late – you, er, probably know that – so it was weird to see you hanging back later than me. Thinking back on it, I should’ve asked you if you needed a ride or something. My mom was furious at me when I mentioned it to her.”

“It’s alright,” Peter replied, resisting the urge to tap his fingers against the desk, “not really your responsibility. Called someone a little while after you must have come by, so everything’s fine.”

This made the kid perk up a little, “Oh, good, you have a phone. I wasn’t sure, since I’ve never seen you using one,” he reached forward to the headphones resting on Peter’s neck, and Peter clenched down on the flare of panic that went through him when he tugged it forward, pulling the headphones tight around his neck for a brief second before slackening once more. The kid was still talking, as if not realizing the boundaries crossed in that interaction, “Do you even listen to music on these?”

“Sometimes,” he managed to force out, trying to measure out how many words he was saying, in case he spoke too much out of panic, “mostly just for the noise canceling.”

“Cool,” the kid nodded, retreating when the door opened for their teacher, but not before giving him a hesitant smile, “See you around, Peter.”

His name was Ned, Peter came to find out. He did this by paying attention to the roll call for the first time in his life, which was a very difficult thing for him to do. But the way the boy had acted made it obvious that he expected Peter to already know him. After all, he knew Peter’s name.

Since this was months into the school term, and they were classmates, so it only made sense to expect Peter to know him. But familiarity came slowly to Peter. Names and faces blurred together, disappearing from his memory when he tried to grasp for them.

He didn’t understand why Ned was talking to him now, right out of the blue, but Peter was also bemoaning his loneliness just a few days ago, so why not take this offer of companionship?

If that was what this was, anyways. Maybe he had just been worried about Peter. Better to back off than expect a friend out of this and come off looking like a desperate weirdo. He was already kind of a weirdo around school, he was pretty sure. The last thing he wanted to do was make that worse.

How do you even socialize? Peter had never had to go out of his way to build relationships with people, and school wasn’t helping with that any, no matter what everyone said.

But he was just so tired of being alone.

Despite Tony’s constant insinuations, Steve wasn’t a psychotherapist or a counsellor. He was a licensed tutor, with extra training courses completed to help kids with learning disabilities. Part of that training included getting some understand of social work, but he also wasn’t a social worker.

He wasn’t prepared to handle this situation. But maybe that was on him. He should’ve realized that Tony wasn’t going to get better for Peter. Steve was simply too close to the situation to see it for what it was, expected better of his best friend.

To make up for it now as best as he could, Steve had been doing a lot of research on tried and tested methods for quitting alcohol, support groups to help Tony. The brochures for it all were completely filling his glovebox, but that wasn’t what he was looking for right now.

Pushing all the papers aside, he instead found the paperwork needed to apply Peter for a Personalized Education Plan.

The main concern for Tony’s behavior right now was how it was affecting Peter’s quality of life. The most important factor of which was his education. And that was what Steve was most confident he could get Tony to move on. After all, the only effort needed on his part was a simple signature. Maybe some extra coordination and meetings with the teachers and other school faculty. Nothing major.

It seemed that Tony knew his play the second he realized who was at the door, and he was having none of it.

“I swear to God, Rogers, if this is about the damn PEP again,” he was already grousing when he opened the door.

“Yeah, it is. Sit down, I need you to look through some case studies, and the application of this program in Peter’s school specifically-” Steve was already running down his script as he forcefully ducked around him and into his home. Not letting him get a word in edgewise was the one surefire method of getting Tony to stop diverting the conversation.

Downside of it was that do it for too long, and Tony would just mentally check out of the conversation, so he had to sneak in at least one gap between sentences long enough for Tony to insert his complaining.

“I’m too damn hungover for this right now, Steve.”

“Well then, sober up. I don’t give a shit,” he snapped, and almost surprised himself with the seriousness with which he meant it. He really thought Tony was just going to be one of those guys most people can’t stand, but let hang around because they brought something to the table, under all that snark.

It was that kind of attitude that had earned him so much leeway before.

Tony looked as if he had been physically smacked, before he carefully recomposed and switched tacks, “Yeah, well, I appreciate your expertise as a professional child coddler, but I don’t think you’re helping Peter in the way that he needs. He couldn’t even read. Putting him under the same pressure all the other kids go through will be good for him. It’ll force him to get better.”

Steve balked at the sheer ignorance in that last statement, “That’s- that doesn’t even help regular children, you gotta know that.”

“His test results say something different,” Tony sounded almost smug when he said that, as if he had anything to do with that. Steve had seen the tests he was talking about, and he was proud of the kid for doing as well as he was, but it simply wasn’t comparing to how he performed when in a comfortable environment. And also…

“Because I’m the one explaining it properly to him,” he explained, with the last of his patience.

“Peter never said anything about having trouble in school,” Tony protested.

“Because Peter doesn’t consider you enough of a parent to bother talking to you!” he seriously wanted to throttle this bastard, “You have done nothing except be belligerent and obstinate and do everything in your power to upturn his life! He tells you nothing, he puts up with you because he feels obligated to, and I don’t think you’ve ever noticed that in all the years we’ve been doing this.”

Silence followed him. It wasn’t anything Steve had ever said before.

No wait. He definitely hadn’t told Tony the part about Peter not viewing him as a parental figure.

“That’s not fair,” Tony said, his voice dark and confrontational, “I’m doing my best. He’s not an easy kid, you know.”

“No kid is! It’s your responsibility to become better for them.”

“Get out,” Tony demanded.

Steve had been planning on holding a properly scripted intervention, but fuck it, “Why? So you can drink away your disappointment in yourself and not have to face any of it? Newsflash, your kid is very much still in the real world. And you’re letting him down every day.”

The pain in Tony’s eyes was real. It was usually at that point that Steve backed off. But not this time. He had to make peace with the fact that kid gloves wouldn’t get through to him.

“We’re shifting towards the end of term evaluation, and if you care about the numbers so much, then you have to agree and facilitate the change over to a PEP. Or do you have any actual reasons for not wanting to do this? Something that can be supported by empirical evidence?”

Tony laughed, “Of course everything is going to back you up on it. They’re all just going soft on spoilt kids who could use a little push out of their comfort zone.”

Coming from the guy simply regurgitating talking points from rhetoric fundamentally against the wellbeing of students with learning disabilities.

“Now, I told you to get out,” Tony said, standing up. “This really has nothing to do with you.”

“You’re not just self-sabotaging, asshole, so this is becoming our problem,” Steve tried to argue, but Tony was squaring his shoulders as if getting ready for a fight. The guy was famous for getting into bar brawls ten or so years back but had stopped abruptly when he had taken his drinking into more private areas.

Given that he still spent most of his days in the mechanic shop meant that his strength hadn’t waned any in that decade, and Steve wasn’t confident if this escalated into a fight.

“Just educate yourself more. You’re not doing a good job right now, but you have the opportunity to support him. So take it,” he advised Tony, carefully moving towards the door.

Once back in his car, he tried to catch his breath, and then dialed Peter. School was scheduled to have let out ten minutes ago – there was a Physics teacher Peter had last on Mondays, who always ran his classes long by around ten minutes, which vexed the boy to no end – but even with the extra time he had waited, Peter didn’t pick up the phone immediately.

It took a few rings until it connected, and Peter carefully said into the receiver, “Hello?”

“I’m coming to pick you up,” he explained, “How do you feel about going to my home for the day?”

Instead of asking why they were changing the schedule, Peter was silent, before saying, “I’m… hanging out with a friend right now.”

Oh.

“That’s- that’s great.” Steve assured, a broad smile on his face, “Have fun, Peter.”

“I don’t know when I’ll be back. Maybe an hour?” Peter guessed.

“Don’t worry, take your time,” Steve assured him, feeling a little more hopeful when Peter ended the call. At least one thing had come from this.

“Hi, Peter,” Ned said out of the blue one day, leaning over to murmur to him as the second hand on the clock ticked beyond the time they were supposed to be let out.

Peter twitched, and turned to look at him, acknowledging that he was listening, even as the teacher spoke at the front of the room, and made him feel like his attention was being stretched between the two. Even if he didn’t have a chance of understanding properly, he still wanted to do his best in school. Tony wanted that for him, and it would make things easier knowing that Peter was at least applying himself, even when he failed.

Beside him, Ned kept talking, “You wanna go to the boba place two blocks down after school?” he hesitated, “Can you have that? It’s kinda textured…”

He’d had some before, actually. Maybe it was the same place, there weren’t a lot of shops of the same type in this town. The interior of the place was calming, and the music being piped in through the speakers was soft and instrumentals only, instead of having words that split his attention and overwhelmed.

Boba was nice, too. He liked the popping kind, not the chewy ones.

“Sure,” he agreed. He had enough money for that.

Ned smiled, and that was that.

They didn’t know each other that well, just talked every so often, and had similar tastes in media. Was that all it took to consider him a friend?

Artificial blueberry syrup coated the inside of his mouth, and the sweet flavor was almost citric, sending sparks through his mind with every sip through his straw.

“This was fun,” he said, trying to get over the instinctive feeling of danger that laced all new experiences, “Thanks for bringing me along.”

“It’s cool, you’re fun to hang out with,” Ned assured, “My uncles love giving me these Star Wars Lego sets, and they’re cool and all, but I don’t really have the attention span to be doing it alone, so I was thinking… you would want to lend a hand?” he looked at Peter hopefully.

“Sure!” he agreed hurriedly, barely even able to believe that this was happening.

They split ways, and Peter had to walk a few rounds around a nearby water fountain to work out his excitement before he pulled out his phone and got walking directions to home. Monday evenings were spent at Tony’s house, and Steve had probably told him that he had gone out with a friend so he wouldn’t have bothered with driving out to the school at all. But in the off-chance that he had, Peter didn’t want to bother him again by asking him to drive out till here.

Which all led up to him navigating to the maps app on his phone and finding a pedestrian route to his home, and then texting Steve that he would walk back using that route.

It wasn’t something he was supposed to make a habit of, as carrying phones outside wasn’t the safest thing, even with the relatively low crime rates of the town, but just once didn’t hurt. He got home just fine.

The home wasn’t fine, though.

Peter found Tony inside, on the couch. He was breathing heavily into one of the throw cushions, but there was no beer open, all the bottles were just scattered about the floor still sealed.

No, there was one can open beside him.

“I don’t think you should be doing that,” he said, unable to summon the energy to sound concerned.

Tony scoffed, and it had none of his forced levity to it, “Can’t I just get the one thing? Of course you gotta take the one last thing from me, too.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Steve came to me, today, you know?” Tony complained, lying on his back now, sounding for all the world as if he was just letting off steam. “He said that I don’t do enough for you. As if I haven’t given up fucking everything for you. I have tried so fucking hard. And all anyone does is talk about how much of a fuckup I am.”

Peter listened to his rant it out, almost feeling like he was having an out of body experience.

So Tony was having a hard time. Okay, he knew that. He accommodated for it. Constantly.

But not for a second did Tony even consider his feelings in this rant, even though he was the most sober he would ever be.

“–no one ever even asked if I wanted a kid!”

“I never asked to be your kid, either,” Peter said, and almost regretted it. Tony despised people interrupting his rants. But he was also really, really done.

“Excuse me?” Tony looked up at him.

Peter fixed his gaze to the wall, “I’m trying just as hard. I want to support you and make things better,” he said, because it had been weighing on him heavily for a while, “So it isn’t fair that you act like the entire world is against you, when you’re the one making my life difficult for no reason.”

There was a lump in his throat, and he had to swallow past it as he talked. “You’re the one pushing everyone away, you’re the one refusing help and then whining about it. You’re the problem.”

Tony made a sound like he was punched in the gut. Maybe that last bit was overboard. Peter couldn’t find it in himself to apologize.

That was when Bucky and Steve burst in, not so subtly blocking Peter off from Tony.

“Kid, you shouldn’t be here,” Bucky tried to herd him out, “He was in a violent mood before, too-”

“And now you’re putting it into his head that I’m an abusive piece of crap?” Tony laughed hysterically, “You fucking traitors are turning him against me.”

But something had broken in him.

Peter never talked back, too afraid of it being misconstrued as one of his meltdowns. Until now. And he had said something which couldn’t be taken back. Tony’s defenses crumbled.

“Fine, so I’m the problem,” he muttered listlessly, leaning back onto the couch, “How do I- how do I- goddammit, Rogers, don’t make me say it.”

Steve looked pleasantly surprised, but not too willing to give him much leeway.

“It’ll take a lot of work,” he decided finally, “But you’ll get there, I think.”

There was a game Peter liked to play. To challenge his memory, in combination with doing things that he liked. That was why he would take apart his models and put them back again, trying not to consult the guide.

When it worked, it was soothing. Familiar. When it didn’t, he tended to get worked up.

He remembered a pretty bad incident where his bedsheets had come back with way too much starch on them, and a bottle of cologne had accidentally been dropped in the corridor outside his room, and one of the pieces just wasn’t fitting. And he had gone halfway sobbing to Tony for help.

The man had yelled at him for bothering him and getting so worked up over a toy. Peter thought about it a lot.

He thought about it now as he visited Tony in rehab, some hours away from their town.

“This place sucks,” Tony whined, “Bet those assholes in Hammer Mechanics have stolen all our customers already.”

That was the only other auto repair store in town. Peter didn’t know where else they were supposed to go.

“Do you blame me for this?” he asked, because there was a very real chance of that.

Tony scoffed, and Peter had no way of knowing whether this time it was genuine or not, “Nah, they’ll come running back to me the second I’m ‘no longer the problem’,” he quoted. Then, his mouth twisted, and his tone came out softer, “You were right to feel like that. You’re still a kid, you know? And, I suppose, you deserve better.”

Forgiveness was a strange concept. By visiting Tony now, was he forgiving him?

Peter didn’t really know.

He just nodded, went through the motions, and waited to see if the changes stuck.

(He hoped they would.)