Peter looked around him, lips clenched, impressed. Everything was beautiful, from the cardinal red, velvet curtains -that looked so noble, so heavy, that Peter was wondering if their golden rods would not break under the weight of the fabric- to the marbled table that looked so expensive that Peter almost felt bad for putting dishes and cutlery -as delicate as they were- on it. The air smelled good and breathable, something Peter had learned, was only accurate to say about rich neighborhoods or expensive Gala halls -just like the one he was in. People were laughing politely around him, and he felt out of place. He felt like his suit was too tight and his tie choked him a little, but he knew it was not true because he and Tony had spent hours in the most expensive shops of New York City, trying to find him a nice, nice suit. Mostly Tony. All Peter did this one afternoon was getting dizzy from all the zeros he could see on the receipts. And here he was. In the nicest, wealthiest Gala of all time, following Tony like a lost puppy. He had briefly considered gripping at the man's suit and not letting go for the rest of the night, but he had quickly given up on that idea, for Tony's dignity sake. And the sake of whatever was left of his.
«Alright, Underoos !» Two rough hands clapped on his shoulders, squeezing him through the expensive fabric of his suit, shaking him a little. «How are we doing? Not too much pressure? I'm sure you're good but if you are not you can always borrow a few saucers, I can assure you, everything will be better afterward.»
«Tony.» Miss Potts warned, eyes closed with exasperation, a StarkPad in her hands.
Tony clapped both of Peter's shoulders as this one gave him a small smile, a bit tense; just as all the rest of his body was, really. Being here was very terrifying and very exciting at the same time and Peter didn't know if he was paralyzed by fear or eagerness. Miss Potts and Tony had both decided he was worthy enough to come to one of the biggest charity Gala of the year. Tony was one of the main donors and he had surrendered, telling himself to the teenager that he knew there was no skipping this one Gala. So he decided to take Peter with him. Aunt May had put on a little fight, just for good measures, but at the end of the day, she had sent him with a large smile on her lips. And he was here, sitting between Miss Potts and Tony, Happy across him, in a quiet euphoria that was making him feel anxious and erratic. Which was, probably not a good thing, but hey, it was better crying or hyperventilating.
«What, Miss Potts, am I not allowed to be happy that the kid is here ?» Tony smiled, a sassy and clever smile really, as he was sitting in his chair, one hand still on Peter's shoulder, still shaking him lightly. Peter reddened a little. He felt like a small kid all over again. He was so awkward in this place, it was kind of embarrassing. He cracked a small smile.
«Don't worry Miss Potts, I stopped listening to him a long time ago.» He said, looking at the man from the corner of his eyes. Miss Potts laughed a little -a one sound laugh, really- eyes still fixed on her StakPad, and Happy snorted in his glass of Champagne, the glass reflecting the white light of the Hall. Next to him, Tony had a small, outraged smile, eyes fond -just a little! Who did you think he was !- and his eyebrows were up lightly, just enough to give away his amusement.
«You're fired,» He joked, shoving Peter to the side lightly. «No more suit.»
«As if it would stop me,» Peter huffed, rolling his eyes. They both knew it wouldn't, Tony had tried already. And failed, obviously, because he was here with them now. Tony shot him a mildly annoyed glance, still smiling, before his eyes fixed a point behind Peter and his face fell a little, a sigh replacing his smile.
«I will be back.» He said, petting Peter's shoulder two times, before getting up -even if he was sitting for less than five minutes- to walk toward a tall, old man, who looked too saggy, skin slack around his bones, in his designer red suit. He was matching the curtains, Peter thought, before scolding himself. No bad talking about old people, even if they were probably so rich that they could fix the world hunger and yet weren't doing anything. Tony shook the man's hand, this one looking down at him with a snobbish face, his eyebrows crushed together in a way that was far from how Tony's eyebrows crushed when he looked at Peter. The teenager looked away, uncomfortable, elbow left seeming unable to sit correctly next to his body. He played with his glass for a second, sliding his finger on the verge of the crystal, listening to the faint sound it produced. They still had to eat the dessert, but it looked like everyone at the Gala was more interested in talking rather than signaling they were ready to eat again. He sighed, picking up the glass, drinking the rest of his water, before getting up. He shot a quick glance to Miss Potts, a second worried that she may ask him to sit back. She just raised her eyebrow, silently questioning him as Happy looked at him suspiciously, from behind his fork still full of food.
«I am going to the bathroom.» He said, tentatively. Happy shot a quick glance to Miss Potts, almost as a confirmation, before trying to get up.
«I will show you where it is.»
«No, no, it's okay, Happy, I've seen it when we arrived,» Peter said, shaking his head, gesturing to the man to stay in his chair. «I will be back.» He smiled, already turning to go to the bathroom. Maybe it would distract him a little. Honestly, he felt bad, ungrateful. He was here, Tony and Miss Potts had presented him to a lot of people, saying it would help him in the future. And he was thankful, he really was! But right now, he was bored. Tony was leaving every five minutes, and so was Miss Potts when she wasn't glued on her StarkPad, working. Happy was nice, but he wasn't very talkative today, probably too anxious about the all security of this Gala, and Peter really needed to do something, or he was going to get mad. So. Trip to the bathroom, that was it. He sighed a little. He didn't even need to go to the bathroom.
The door of the room was huge, in the same black wood that was covering the walls of the hall. Peter pushed the golden handle of the room, closing the door behind him, and sighing a little, relieved, when the laughter and the discussions died lightly. He could hear himself think again. Mostly. He stood, for a second, breathing in the silence, before the hair on the back of his neck suddenly stood on end, sending a deep shiver from the top to the bottom of his spine. He spun around immediately, only to see one of the very last people he expected to see here push the door open violently, Flash. The boy looked angry, angrier than Peter had ever seen him, as he walked toward Peter, feet slapping the ground, head pushed between his shoulders.
«What. Are. You. Doing. Here.» He hissed at Peter's face, one finger up in the air, pointing toward the other face. Flash's face was flushed with anger and surprise, his eyebrows wrinkled together, his upper lips almost snarling, showing his perfectly white teeth hidden underneath. The hand that wasn't up into the air next to Peter's face was clenched into a fist and he seemed like he was just waiting for one word so he could make it crash into Pete's jaw. Flash looked like the boy had just killed his parents, or tripped him in the main hallway of the school, Peter wasn't sure. But either way, Peter was startled, surprised, first by the fact that the boy was here, but also by his outrageous anger, by his flushed, angry face, and his spitted words. He knew why the boy was here, after all, his parents were rich, rich , but why was he so angry? Not that Peter was physically threatened by this anger but.. «Parker !» He hissed again, louder this time. Not yet a yell, but loud enough to make Peter frown in discomfort. «Im fucking talking to you.»
That wasn't what he met, when he said he wanted entertainment.
«I have no reason to tell you.» He said, trying to keep his voice calm, neutral, but the usual snarl that always came with talking to Flash bit his tongue harshly, coloring his words of annoyance and resentment. «Piss off, Flash.» He said, almost surprised to say those words in an oh-so-unfamiliar environment, pushing through Flash, passing the door in a hurry.
The boy followed him, trying to grab his wrist. Before he could touch him, Peter snatched his limp out of his way.
«Listen,» He said, turning back to the boy, already regretting his choice to leave the bathroom. Now they were almost in front of everyone. Great. «If you want to talk about it, we will, alright, we can even do it now, but not here, okay? I don't want you throwing a tantrum in front of all the wealthiest people of the country.» He hissed. Especially now that most of the people knew he was here with Tony Stark, he couldn't embarrass himself, because it would go directly on Tony and Miss Potts' reputation.
«Yeah sure,» Flash snorted. «As if you have a reason to be here.» He spat, loudly, making Peter cringe. He could feel the blood rush to his cheeks, making his face warm and red. «You want to know what I think, Penis Parker ?» He said, teeth squeaking together of anger. «What I think is that you are a dirty little liar who lied to be here . Just so you could fuck up my night !» He wasn't loud no, it was more like a whisper but if the boy was shouting. The words were escaping between his clenched teeth to directly assault Peter's red face. Flash left hand was clenched, crisped strongly around his forearm, and while he could easily get out of the handle, it would look suspicious, especially given the fact that Flash looked taller, more muscular, and larger than him. The boy's nails were wrinkling the expensive fabric, and Peter hoped Tony wouldn't mind too much.
«I don't understand what you are saying,» Peter said, feeling hot when people started to lift their heads from their conversation, peaking quick, annoyed glances at the both of them. «Flash. Let's go somewhere else.» He said back, voice pressed.
«Oh, you don't understand? It was supposed to be my night. It's the first fucking year im allowed to go to this Gala, and of course, you have to be here !» He said again, louder this time, too caught in his anger to pay attention to the looks people were sending them, to the annoyance radiating from them. Or maybe he knew and he just didn't care.
«Flash !» Peter hissed, the collar of his suit tight against his neck, cheeks red, trying to decide if he should kick the boy's hand off his arm or if it was going to get him into more trouble. He could feel the glazes of the people on them, on him, looking him up and down, and he was pretty sure they could tell everything about him. How he couldn't breathe correctly, and how tense was his body, how he didn't belong here, how he was poor. In the back of his head, he knew it wasn't true. That Tony had brought him one of the nicest suits, and Miss Potts had taught him how to lift his chin, subtly, so he looked like never had missed anything in his life. But he wasn't thinking rationally right now. Not really. He just wanted to get him and Flash out of the main hall, out of where everybody could see them.
«I'm not going anywhere, Parker, you ruined my night, I'm gonna ruin yours.» Flash spat, and Peter felt his throat tie in a knot. Oh, Mister Stark, he was so, so sorry.
«I will tell you! I will tell you why I am here, alright, just Flash, please .» He said, the words scratching his lips as he said them, hurting his mouth, he could almost smell the taste of blood in his mouth.
«I don't care Par-!»
«What is going on here.» Interrupted a cold, strong but familiar voice. Both of the boys stilled, and Peter felt the color of his face fell. Mister Stark, Tony, oh no, he had wanted to fix his mistake before Tony noticed, so bad .
Flash must have assumed something different from the lack of color on his face because he breathed out a laugh, letting go of his arm -the mark of his nail traced in the fabric- to take a step toward Mr. Stark. The man was full on 'Tony Stark attitude.' His black tainted glasses were at the top of his nose and his arms were crossed on his chest. Peter didn't know how he did that, but his all attitude, the energy he gave, were different from what it was when they were in the penthouse, or the lab. It was really impressive, Peter couldn't help but think, despite the situation, despite that most of the looks were on them.
«Mr. Stark, it's an honor.» Flash started, a hand on his chest, on his red tie. «I am Eugene Thompson, and this here, is Peter Parker.» He said, spitting his name like a slur. Mr. Stark raised an eyebrow. «He, is not supposed to be here, you see. His family -which is generous to say because he only has an aunt- is not part of the donors, and I know , that he doesn't know anybody in here, except me, maybe.» Peter's jaw was clenched, face closed, anger warm warm in his stomach. He didn't care that much that Flash made a scene in the Gala. He didn't like it, but he would survive, and Tony too. Probably. But May had nothing, nothing to do with what was going on here. His cheeks were red with humiliation when he stepped toward Flash.
«Don't you dare-»
«Peter.» Tony interrupted immediately. His mouth clapped shut, breath stuck in his lungs. Oh, it had been a while since Mr. Stark had used this tone to talk to him. He clenched his fist, taking a long inspiration, quietly. He needed to come down. People were not looking, or at least they were trying to not make it obvious, and most of the tables had now started to eat their dessert. He was okay, he was okay, he could do that. He expired slowly, trying to calm his anger, his heart, his breathing. He was not having a panic attack at the most important Gala of the year. Nop, not happening.
He lifted his head, looking at Tony, who had his eyes on him. He was worried. Peter could see it, after hours of listening, watching him work in the silence of their lab. His eyebrows were a little more frowned than usual, and underneath his sunglasses, Peter could see a question float in his eyes. The boy shook his head slowly. He wasn't okay, not right now, and he knew better than to lie to Tony. But would be. Maybe in ten minutes, maybe in an hour, maybe tomorrow. Maybe when he would be on the couch with Tony, watching a movie in a few hours. But not yet.
Tony clenched his lips, annoyed. Peter tensed a little. He knew the man wasn't annoyed at him, but at the fact that he was upset. But still.
«Tell me, Thomfon,» Tony said, and Peter knew he had purposefully messed up the boy's name. Flash's face twisted a little, between annoyance and surprise, but he said nothing. «Why do you believe so strongly that Peter doesn't know anyone here.»
The teen opened his mouth, eager to talk but was silent for a second, eyes fixed on the floor, as if he was searching for an answer, fingers tapping quickly on his tight.
«I, I mean, look at him, really,» Flash said, voice a little less confident than he probably intended to be. Peter could see Mr. and Mrs. Thompson looking from their table, and he couldn't help but feel a little nauseous at their lack of support for the boy. Tony, even if he wasn't the best at defending anyone but himself, even if he was so deeply uncomfortable with emotions, his own and other people's, was trying . He was trying so hard to be here for Peter, when the boy needed it, and yeah, maybe sometimes he was a bit rough, and clumsy, but he was here. He was making efforts, for Peter.
And Flash didn't have that. Even from his own parents.
He felt sick
«It's so obvious that, you know, he doesn't know anyone here, he was hiding in the bathroom !» Flash kept going, and Peter wasn't even mad at him anymore, he just felt bad. He wanted to go home really bad.
«So were you ?» Tony asked, an eyebrow raised.
«No, I was searching for him, because he doesn't belong here !» Flash said again -voice cracking, a bit little too loud, too forceful, for the calm discussions around them- and Peter had never been so happy to not be the center of the attention anymore, because a few people turned to shoot him a nasty glare.
«Okay..» Tony sighed, pitching the top of his nose between his fingers, face wrinkled into annoyance behind his black sunglasses. «This is none of your business, but because I know you have been a little shit to Peter all this year, and the year before, and the year even before, I am going to tell you.» He said, voice a little lower than usual, threatening, and if the man wasn't defending him, Peter would have probably laughed at this. But right now, he wasn't. He was just really, really tired, and these things, this whole Gala, those people, Flash, were getting to his head. He was grateful, to be here, but could feel the pain of a headache form at the bottom of his skull, piercing, and he wanted to go home and crawl on a couch from where he would never have to get up again. «Peter is with me, because he is my personal intern. He works for me. Actually, fuck that, he works with me, and believe me when I tell you he largely deserves his place, he really, really does. Now if you will excuse us, Peter, come on.» He said, voice pressed, his body turned toward their table from where he could see Miss Potts, her body straight in her chair, her StarkPad long abandoned, probably stuffed in her bag, looking at Tony and him. Happy was up, as if he had tried to run and help him. Probably did, before Tony stepped in.
Silently, without a guilty glance at Flash, Peter passed by the boy, trailing behind Tony. He could feel that the man was annoyed, strangely upset, because what, he had barely scolded a teenager? Peter was curious, so curious he almost forgot how bad he felt for Flash.
Then he saw Mr. Thompson continue to eat in silence when his son came to their table, not looking at him, not acknowledging his presence and his curiosity was gone, replaced by a weird mix of pity, and anger, and maybe a bit of relieve, that he wasn't in Flash situation, that he wasn't forgotten.
He felt sick.
«Come on,» Tony said, clapping his hands lightly as soon as they arrived at their table. «Were are living. I've shaken enough hands, now I have all the germs of New York on my hands, we can go.» He said as Miss Potts was getting up. «Happy, stop wherever you want on our way, we need food for the kid, this meal wasn't enough for him. Now, go.» Peter frowned.
«I've eaten enough.»
Tony turned back, looking at him from the top of his glasses.
«You are getting food kid.» Peter opened his mouth to argue, walking after Tony, who was already out of the hall, into the warm air of the end of summer. He already felt bad. People had been watching, and while Mr. Stark was always the center of attention, the man being implicated in teenagers' trifles was definitely not a good look, and sounded really bad, childish even. And Peter was pretty sure the few reporters in the room had not missed a second of that little altercation, at least from the moment Tony had stepped in.
He wanted to argue, and he was ready to do so, as they waited for Happy to bring the car, but Miss Potts pressed her hands on his shoulder lightly, smiling a kind 'it's okay, it doesn't bother us' at him. And really, who was he to deny Miss Potts?