I lied
It seemed that when Tony had said ‘family dinner’, he truly meant every available Avenger would be stuffed into one room with dishes and beverages like some weird, overachieving potluck.
The typical dining table—long and sleek, matching the interior of the glass and metal kitchen—had been crowded with different tupperwares and plates piled with snacks, vegetables, and cookies.
It was sort of like Thanksgiving, in a way, where the seats pulled up to the counter were mismatched and pulled from elsewhere, and the overcrowding problem was solved by simply extending the table with two other, slightly shorter ones.
When Peter walked into the room, he was immediately assaulted with the smell of pasta and probably about thirty other things. There was conversation happening, overlapping with one another, different voices melding and interrupting each other as six different topics were thrown around. Tony steered him towards an empty seat, the one next to it empty, and the other taken by Harley.
“I’ll fight my way to the fridge, do you want anything to drink?” His mentor asked, almost stage whispering, overshadowed by the background noise.
Peter nodded, mutely, and glanced wildly around the table. “Um, yes please. If you have, like, sprite I’ll take some,” He didn’t find any distinguishable labels, and Harley seemed to be the only one without a beer or a wine glass, so he gave up searching. “Thank you,” He added, and Tony was off.
He pulled back the chair, making a small noise as it scraped against the floor, and sat. He scooted further to the table, looking over his little area with silverware and a napkin, but then paused. A hush had fallen over the room, and he snapped his head up, alert, wondering why everyone had gotten so quiet.
He felt a little queasy when he realized everyone was looking at him .
“Peter,” Harley exclaimed, his tone about an octave too high to be completely casual. He was clutching a fork in one hand, a piece of broccoli speared through it. “What’s up?”
“Hey,” He managed, glancing around awkwardly when dozens of eyes followed his every move, as he shifted in his chair. Peter wondered, suddenly, if he had interrupted all of them by simply existing. It would not be an uncommon experience. “I didn’t need to bring anything, did I?” He mumbled, trying to keep his voice a little quieter, even when he knew everyone was leaning in to listen. Harley gave him an amused sort of look, quirking an eyebrow. “Is there some, uh, weird mid-summer holiday that I’m forgetting about?”
“Dude, I think you’re the holiday,” Harley matched his tone, but spoke at a louder volume. “I’m not questioning it, I think we can all put in our best teamwork to finish all of this. Or we can start a food fight. I'm not sure if the two are exclusive…”
Peter tried to imagine it, for a moment, all of these very skilled fighters using their experience to launch marinara sauce at each other from across the table. He imagined Steve Rogers holding a plate like a shield, and Clint Barton notching a baguette in his bow. He couldn’t help it, he laughed; a sharp burst from his throat, somewhere in between a snort and a giggle.
Everyone, almost in unison, began their conversations once more, maybe a bit softer as it filled the air again. Peter glanced around, still chuckling, and the few people he did know gave him small looks of acknowledgment.
Tony was still in the kitchen, so he accepted his fate of making a plate for himself alone, muttering his gratitude when Bruce Banner handed him one from a few seats away. It wasn’t as painful as he was expecting, preparing himself to elbow his way around and ask for different dishes to be passed his way.
Before he could even stand from his seat, Steve appeared with a pot of spaghetti, plopping a few large heaps onto his plate and then disappearing before he could manage much more than a ‘hello’. It seemed like everyone sort of followed his example; Scott Lang handed him some garlic bread, Happy gave him some vegetables, Bucky Barnes stared holes into the back of his head as he offered him meatballs, and Clint snuck a big chocolate chip cookie onto his napkin, winking before slipping away.
They all stared at him periodically, varying expressions of friendliness and hostility on their faces. It was like they were waiting for him to get up and do a backflip, or maybe break the table in half and declare war against the entire universe. He figured it wouldn’t be the first time something like that had happened, but it did make him feel a little bad that he was the new biggest ‘threat’. He leaned over to Harley after twirling food around his plate aimlessly.
“Are they usually this…” Peter tried to find the exact words, sure that their behavior was somewhere between awkward and mothering, but not having the right vocabulary to encapsulate it.
“No,” Harley responded, through a mouthful, sparing Peter the internal struggle to find a good adjective. “At least, not this much. It’s kind of funny. I think they just don’t know how to act,”
Peter nodded, thoughtfully, looking back at his plate and trying not to feel too bad. There had never been this much tension before with them, and even when he had distanced himself the past couple of years, it was still unnerving to watch them prance around like the wrong topic would make him bolt.
The only ones who didn’t seem to be affected by Peter at all were, of course, those who hadn’t known him before. Cassie and Kate and a few other faces were scattered around, chatting with their respective Avenger ‘chaperones’ (Harley had told him it was too complicated to keep up with where exactly they had all come from, so he thought it would be funnier if it was like they were all on some field trip). Cassie sat close to Scott, which made sense, but she did shoot him a wave when she had a moment to. Kate stomped over, in different clothes than she had been wearing earlier, stripping off a coat and sitting next to Harley. She had been teasing Clint a few moments before, just outside the kitchen, and she looked proud when he rolled his eyes as he took his seat.
“Hey Peter,” She greeted, easily, and he gave her a tiny little grin, still poking through his noodles. She punched Harley’s arm, and he let out a squawk of surprise. “Why didn’t you tell me that he was Peter Parker you asshole,”
The southern boy rubbed the spot where he’d been hit, looking towards Peter as if he had something to do with this. “It’s not my fault, he did introduce himself,”
He tried not to laugh, trying to look guiltless and sympathetic. The two began bickering back and forth, so Peter turned to the empty seat next to him, wondering if his mentor truly had that much of a struggle getting to the refrigerator. He tried to move his chair back a little, to see past the people and over the counter into the kitchen. He saw his mentor’s back, his face turned away with a phone raised to his ear. It didn’t take long for him to pick up what he was saying, even when it did feel like a huge invasion of privacy.
His voice was soft in a way he had only heard recently, the tilt of his tone brushed in affection and endearment. He was talking about bedtime stories and homework. He was talking to Morgan, Peter realized, turning back to the table quickly, trying to focus on something else. He hadn’t even considered where his daughter had been, or his wife for that matter.
Peter had been so focused on trying not to spill his past that he had forgotten the present. Tony’s present. He wasn’t hungry, even when the meal was prepared for him, and everyone seemed to be waiting to jump to give him a second serving. All he felt was a cold, hard guilt that seeped into his belly. It kept him full.
He was the jerk who was keeping Tony Stark away from Morgan. He was being too selfish, afterall, letting himself get so close. Maybe the Avenger’s weren’t too far off with their nervous energy; Peter had never felt like running away more than he did in that moment.
He realized Harley and Kate were talking to him, a few moments too late to catch anything they were saying. “What?” He asked, feeling a little dizzy.
Harley was frowning, but Kate seemed to brighten when he glanced over at her. “We’re trying to rank superheroes. I, of course, am putting Hawkeye in top 3, but he,” She sent a scalding look to the other boy, who just smirked at her. “Thinks that Captain America should be there,”
“Which one?” Peter said before he could stop himself, wondering again if Steve was retired in this world, too. The two looked at him blankly for a moment, and he laughed awkwardly. “I mean, uh, who’s in first place?”
“Dude,” Harley muttered, and exchanged a glance with Kate, like he couldn’t believe how dumb Peter was being.
“Spider-Man,” Kate said, without hesitation, and the other boy hummed in agreement. “Duh,”
He felt a blush spread all the way down his neck, and the two other teens immediately began teasing him for it, despite being their favorite superhero, apparently.
Dinner passed, and Tony joined him eventually, brandishing a sprite can like the holy grail. He managed to stomach a few bites under the scrutiny of his friends and his mentor, but folded up the cookie Clint had given him in a napkin, tucking it in his pocket for later.
“We’re playing Mario Kart,” Cassie declared, once the table had gotten a little quieter, and a girl next to her with olive skin and a Captain Marvel sweatshirt stood at her shoulder, nodding aggressively.
“I’m going to kick your ass,” Kate stood up and joined them leaving her jacket draped along the seat. Harley looked at Peter, like asking him what he wanted, and it made his stomach unclench, just a little.
He looked towards the girls. “Can I be Yoshi?” They all cheered.
He got his wish, and he played as Yoshi until he was banished from his controller, winning at least ten rounds in a row. He even offered to play one on the ceiling, as if it would somehow break his gaming record. It was hours before they all dispersed, Cassie and the other girl, Kamala heading back home and Kate wandering off to find Hawkeye. Harley tried a few rounds solo when it was clear that he couldn’t beat Peter, and that was where they stayed until the southern boy flopped back into his seat, chucking the controller onto the cushion.
“You were really close that time,” Peter comforted, watching as the screen cycled through the different racers, with Harley’s King Boo in second and Baby Mario cheering just ahead of him. The bots played dirty, he had noticed, when Harley had been hit with his third blue shell.
He groaned, covering his eyes with his hands. “Don’t patronize me, you….Mario wizard…”
“Sorry,” He couldn’t help but say, laughing a little when Harley nearly slid to the floor, wriggling around in a dramatic display of self-pitying. He glanced back towards the table, where Tony had been speaking with Bruce and Happy, clearing the table slowly as they murmured to each other.
He assumed it was about him, somehow, which made him feel a little egotistical, but the fact that Dr. Banner kept looking his way was pretty telling. He chewed on the inside of his cheek for a bit as Harley continued to whine about his loss, apparently texting Kate to come back so he had a chance to win. Peter was busy pretending not to eavesdrop over his shoulder, watching out of the corner of his eye as the last of the silverware was lugged away, and he nearly jumped to the ceiling when he felt a pinch in his arm.
“Earth to Peter,” Harley said, and he looked a little concerned, his brows pinched together.
He must’ve said something to him, he realized, and sort of grimaced. “Sorry,” He repeated, and he just shook his head.
“It’s okay, I was just saying, uh,” He looked kind of embarrassed, for a second, and then continued, “It must feel at least a little nice,” He paused again, and Peter felt lost. “That everyone knows, now. Like, everyone who should know, knows,” He elaborated.
He was referring to the Avengers, and he felt a bit of his nerves chip away at the very clear effort Harley was putting in to reassure him, somehow. He had been right at his side when he’d spoken to Betty, and he was still being mindful of how everything was affecting him. It made his chest feel a little tight, having someone in his corner again, someone who was paying attention.
Peter tried to agree, jumping to have something to be relieved about. There was a hitch in his throat, scraping his vocal cords and making him pause, freeze. There was someone else who deserved to know. There was someone else who he was too scared to ask after. Someone who he didn’t even know existed. Who he didn’t know was alive.
“Right,” He managed, trying not to sound as conflicted as he felt. Everything felt a little too tight, like the air didn’t sit well in his lungs, and his stomach was trying to flip. Harley gave him a look, like he wasn’t convinced, and Peter smiled. “It is kind of nice. Weird, but nice,”
Harley patted his arm, turning back to the tv, and then started another round. Peter watched him for a moment, then looked back towards the table, seeking out his mentor.
He stood in the threshold between the dining room and the kitchen, where Tony stood at the sink, his sleeves rolled up to his elbows as he scrubbed. Happy was a few feet away, stacking things away in the fridge and the cupboards, and Bruce was nowhere to be seen.
He psyched himself up, squaring his shoulders and then approaching. “I…have a question,” He began, tentatively.
Tony looked to him, surprised, and then sort of laughed, sort of exhaled. “I might have an answer. Shoot,”
Peter wrung his hands, knowing that he would have to confess more than he was willing if he truly wanted to know. He looked at Happy, who was distracted for the moment. He spoke quietly, regardless. “I don’t want you to, like, get concerned or anything. I just…I want to know something. Like, if something is the same here as if was in my world,”
“Okay,” The older man seemed to be paying more attention, his expression serious as he turned the tap off, facing Peter. “Of course. Whatever you want to know,”
He nodded, opened his mouth, then closed it. How was he supposed to ask this? How was he supposed to admit just another horrible thing that stings, a glaring loss in the long line of his past. How was he supposed to confront a dead man, asking about the life of another ghost?
“My aunt,” His voice came out soft, lighter than he’d expected. He felt like his throat was burning, and he wet his lips before trying again. “Is my Aunt May alive?”
Tony’s eyebrows shot up, and Peter winced as a few plastic tupperwares hit the ground, knowing that Happy must’ve heard him, too. “Yes,” He said, quickly, his face a little slack. “Yes, yes of course she is, Pete,”
Something unfurled in his stomach, hot and tingling and oppressive. His muscles tensed, then relaxed, and he knew his face was probably an odd type of blank, carefully schooled as his heart seized. He nodded, again, as if to provide some sort of reaction, to prove that he had heard him.
“Why…wouldn’t she be?” Happy asked, gently, as he shut the refrigerator, walking towards them and handing a towel to Tony. He had barely registered that his hands were dripping with soap suds.
He thought about lying, for a moment, about pretending that there was some logical excuse for his question. It would be easy to find a reason, he knew, operating under the assumption that everyone around him was truly clueless to the laws of the multiverse.
It was an innocent question, he could’ve argued, one that was borne from curiosity; if she had even existed at all, or if she was even an active member in his life. There could be endless excuses, and any one of them would be accepted, he knew.
He thought about lying, but then his eyes began to water, and his throat closed up, and he just kept nodding and nodding, like that would disguise the tears slipping past his eyelids.
Tony lurched towards him, his hands steady as they gripped his shoulders, his mouth already moving to reassure him. “Hey, hey it’s okay. It’s alright. It’s okay, Pete,”
Happy also stepped forward, placing a hand on his back, warm and firm, and he couldn’t help the way his breath completely rattled against it. Their touch was gentle, a small gesture of affection, of concern, and he couldn’t stop himself from wishing he had never said anything at all.
“It—” He choked, flailing for oxygen, hot tears spilling down his face without pause or remorse, blurring his vision and making everything seem so hot, so crowded. “It’s just that, that it’s just,” He tried to find anything to say, anything to distract himself from his grief, tied tightly with an awful sense of relief; the realization that with the absence of his life, his Aunt had lived.
“Oh, kid,” Happy whispered, and Tony stepped a little closer, bringing him into a sort of hug, fiercely apologetic and his hands so light against his arms. They hung limp at his sides, even as Happy continued to rub a hand up and down his back. “Oh, Peter,”
“It’s just such good news,” He felt himself muttering, through the spit at his lips, through the blubbering sobs. “It’s just such…I’m just so glad,”
“I know,” Tony reassured, a hand at the back of his head, as if to support him. “It’s okay, I know,”
“She’s alive,” He said, and he was trying to convince himself. She was. She had been alive this whole time. She had been alive, and he hadn’t even thought to ask about her.
His knees buckled, the pain so heavy in his chest that he couldn’t bear to shoulder it anymore. Two pairs of hands were there to catch him, and he curled inward, crying to the tiles. Crying in the tight hold of Tony, and the continued presence of Happy, rubbing his hand up and down his back.
He just felt so heavy.