Cross that county line
The dinner was at the Compound, with a quiet table set with pristine china that Peter was sure was the Starks everyday placeware. No matter how many times he went over, or how thoroughly he existed in their space, there was always a huge gap in comfortability when it came to household objects. Peter was so used to mismatched plates and plastic cups; he felt like if he scratched his knife too hard against his food he might have to reimburse Pepper. Alas, he prevailed.
After confirming that he’d attend, May had hugged him tight and demanded that he at least change out of his t-shirt, the same one he had worn during gym class that day. He knew she wanted to say more—to make it seem like more of an accomplishment than it was worth that he had actually said yes—but she stayed quiet. He wore a nice button down that May approved of, and she helped him comb his hair, and he sort of felt like he was about to go for a job interview.
Morgan, Tony’s daughter who seemed very fond of Peter despite barely interacting with him, sat across from him and next to her mother. May sat at the head to his left, and Pepper was to her immediate right. Happy was on the other end, which left Peter seated right next to Harley. The other teen seemed pleased to see him, which made Peter feel a little bad about not wanting to come, but it was also relieving to know he didn’t make the worst first impression the last time they’d spoken. They might have some solidarity, actually, in the sense that they both held the same relationship when it came to Tony. It made Peter feel a little nervous, like he wanted to relate to the other, but he didn’t know what would be seen as overstepping. He did kind of bail on their last heart-to-heart, he wasn’t sure if he would get another chance at this point.
Dinner was a pasta dish that he couldn’t pronounce, and he tried to act like he was actually eating when he was mostly just pushing food around his plate. With three pairs of eyes on him, attentive and parental, he apparently wasn’t up to par on his acting skills. It seemed like they had planned this out beforehand; like they’d googled ‘what to say to encourage your moping teen to stuff his face’. In between helping Morgan eat, and the normal flow of conversation, he was rudely targeted.
“Are you not hungry?” May asked, very obviously monitoring him for every bite he took. He almost wondered if she had some kind of tally chart underneath the table, keeping track of every time his fork touched his lips.
“Help yourself,” Pepper told him, at some point, smiling and dabbing at her face with a napkin probably worth more than his life. “We have plenty more on the stove.”
Even Happy joined in, eventually, glancing at his dish and pointing his fork at him. “Finish that up. You’re getting seconds.”
Harley shifted in his seat, ducking a little towards him and grabbing his arm so he would bend his head appropriately to match.
“They’re going pretty hard on the parenting routine,” He noted, his face turned just far enough away so that it seemed like they were in a side-huddle. Or, Peter assumed. He never really played sports.
“Everyone in my life is plotting against me,” He agreed, whispering. “Don’t let them fool you, they’ll claim it’s for the betterment of my mental well being, but I think they’re trying to lull me into a false sense of security. My guess is for government experimentation. When money gets tight…” He shrugged.
“You’re very dramatic,” Harley whispered back, and Peter smiled.
“So I’ve heard,” He thought about it for a moment, then added, “I might join theater next semester. I’m trying to work on expanding my extracurriculars,”
The other boy huffed a laugh, leaning away and turning back to his plate. As far as he knew, Harley didn’t have the same enhanced metabolism as he did, but that didn’t deter him. He had seconds, then thirds, and Peter pushed his food around a little harder, frustrated with himself for a reason he couldn’t explain. Growing teenage boys were supposed to eat half their weight in servings. Peter was supposed to eat twice his weight. Why did nothing seem appetizing?
Peter helped with the dishes. Pepper insisted that they were guests, so they didn’t have to lift a finger, but he pushed his way towards the sink, rolled up his sleeves, and washed whatever was handed to him. He used a sponge that was shaped like a little smiley-face, and he counted to ten, then back up from one. The tips of his fingers were getting pruney, and he pushed his hair back on his head with his forearm, his hands occupied with suds and water.
“You should go join everyone else,” Pepper spoke quietly, just loud enough to be heard over the sounds of swishing water. Peter knew she was there, but he still kind of startled when he heard her. “I think Harley and Morgan were going to play a game on the tv.”
“I’m okay,” He said, and he shot her a smile. “I like helping.”
When he turned back, he tried to pretend like he didn’t see her frown. “How have you been?” She asked, instead of what he knew she wanted to say. Probably ‘what’s wrong?’ or ‘why are you so bad at being a kid?’ or maybe ‘you’re getting your shirt wet’.
“I’ve got all A’s right now, but I think I’ll probably get a B in English after finals. I built the millennium falcon with Ned the other day. It was, like, 8,000 pieces,” He swiped at his forehead with his arm again, pausing. “Our neighbor has a cat now. He’s orange and he hates May but I think I’m winning him over. His name is Spice. I think it’s short for pumpkin spice, but I didn’t ask. Spice is a funny name.”
Pepper laughed on an exhale, and then pressed a hand to his shoulder. “That’s nice. But I did mean how are you feeling? How are you adjusting? How…how have you been doing?”
“Oh,” He said, and she rubbed a hand up and down his back, soothing and warm. “I mean, I think I’m fine? I don’t know. I don’t think I’m really much like I used to be,” He stared down at his hands, submerged and half covered by soap bubbles. “Is that bad?” He asked, quietly.
He realized there was nothing left to wash, and he slowly took his hands out of the dirty water, letting them drip off for a moment. She handed him a towel, and he muttered his thanks, and then she pulled him in for a hug. He was still holding the towel, and she pressed a hand to the back of his head and held him.
“I don’t think that’s bad, I think you’re just growing,” She told him. “I’m glad you’re here.”
“Right,” He whispered, and his eyes teared up, even as he counted down from ten. “I’m glad I’m here, too.”