“in which it’s just a sip”
3754 words
ships: spideychelle, nedxbetty,
tw/cw: drinking, fighting (not really), drunk people, a lot of stereotypical teenage party things, language, a low sense of self-preservation, dad jokes
__
"Will somebody tell me why this was a good idea?"
Peter Parker, flanked by his girlfriend, Michelle Jones (MJ to her friends) and his friend, Ned Leeds, were standing outside Flash Thompson's house, about to enter what was supposed to be "the party of the year."
"Because, Peter," Ned started, adjusting his hat. "It's the party of the year!"
"And we can find all of Flash's secrets and tell everybody about them," MJ added, her long curly hair falling onto the pages of the book she was currently reading. "Or, better yet, keep it as blackmail."
"But... but it's so loud," Peter whined, trying to use his heightened senses as an excuse to get out of going.
Granted, it was loud, with the muffled bass being heard from miles thanks to his enhanced hearing. Teenagers were spilling out onto the front lawn, dancing and yelling and singing along to the music while being severely off-key. So, Peter's senses were going a bit haywire, but nothing he couldn't handle.
But Ned and MJ didn't need to know that.
MJ rolled her eyes and looked up from her book, a rare occurrence. "It was your idea in the first place, loser."
"Are you really gonna back out on us now?" Ned asked quietly.
Peter sighed as he looked at them both. Ned was looking down, anxiously fiddling with the hem of his shirt and MJ was chewing her lip, her eyes darting everywhere but towards Peter.
"D'you really think I would let you guys deal with Flash on your own?" Peter relented, smiling. "Of course I'm staying with you guys."
Ned let a relieved sigh escape him, and even MJ looked less bored than usual, a subtle sign that she cared, to those who noticed.
"Well, I think loitering is considered a crime to these rich people, so we should probably head inside sometime during this hour," MJ said, tucking her book under one arm and extending her unoccupied hand to Peter, which he gladly took.
"Ugh, you guys are making me feel single just looking at you," Ned remarked, not unkindly.
Peter laughed. "Don't you have a crush on Betty? You should make your mov—"
"HOW ABOUT WE GO INSIDE?" Ned said loudly, cutting Peter off as they walked inside the extravagant mansion.
MJ and Peter fell into laughter at Ned's complete denial of his painfully obvious crush as they trailed behind Ned. Ned whirled around and shot them a look and the pair quieted, not wanting to upset Ned. The booming music was even louder on the inside, as Peter expected, and there were so many people. There were the regular cliques, the jocks, the popular girls, and so on, but most of the guests Peter had never seen in his life.
"There's no way all of these people are from Midtown," MJ shouted over the music.
"Definitely not," Ned shouted back. "There's a couple making out on the stairs that look like they're in college!"
"Why are college students here? They should be at college, going to college parties and doing college party things," Peter shouted, his ears straining to focus on their conversation.
"They're probably here because the college students think they're weird. Losers," MJ responded.
"Who cares?" Ned yelled. "We're at the party of the year, and we need to enjoy it!"
"You're right, you're right," Peter agreed. "How are we supposed to enjoy the party of the year if it's hosted by my archnemisis?"
"He's not your archnemiesis, Peter," MJ sighed with a tired smile on her face.
"He might as well be!"
"Mhm. So if Flash is your archnemisis, what would that make the Vulture and Mysterio?"
Peter felt blood rush into his cheeks and was thankful for the low lighting, which must've been done for aesthetic purposes, because there was no way that in a mansion like the one Peter was in, the lights were dim on purpose.
"Okay, okay, you're right," Peter conceded. "Calling Flash my archnemisis is probably too good of a title for him. He's just a... like an annoying pest!"
"That's more like it," MJ said, as they followed Ned through the crowd of people.
"Hey, I think I see Betty over there!" Ned shouted, pointing across the living area to the backyard patio, where glimpses of Betty's blonde hair was visible through the door. "Do you guys mind if I go, uh, hang out with her? Just for a little bit!"
MJ just shrugged and Peter said, "Yeah, of course! And ask her out while you're at it!"
"Um, we'll see," Ned replied with uncertainty. "Wish me luck," he said as he turned to leave.
"Good luck!"
"Don't screw it up!"
Ned smiled tightly. "Thanks, guys. Means a lot."
"Go!" Peter urged. "This could be your chance!"
"Right, right, I'm going!" Ned said as he started walking towards the backyard.
MJ and Peter waved at his back as he joined into conversation with Betty, watching for a few moments to make sure the conversation wouldn't need some sort of intervention before turning back to each other.
"Do you want something to drink, M?" Peter asked. "Because I can totally get you something, if you want it. If you don't, that's okay too, it's up to you."
"Yes, Peter, a drink would be great," MJ said, a crooked smile forming on her face. "Just a water, I don't need to drink alcohol to pretend to be cool."
"Great. One water coming up!" Peter said, kissing MJ softly on her cheek and leaving to find some water for her and a drink for him.
The house — well, it was more of a mansion, which Peter still didn't understand how a mansion of that size could be in the heart of Queens — was full of hallways that led everywhere but the kitchen. Pristine white hardwood floors were covered with splashes of water, cheap beer, frozen margaritas, and crumbs of food, and decorative furniture had been moved haphazardly to make room for games that made no sense. Peter had run into at least twenty people who he'd asked about directions to the kitchen, and he'd received twenty different directions, so naturally, he was lost.
Very lost.
So lost, in fact, that he ran into the one person he'd hoped to avoid.
"Damn it," Peter muttered under his breath as he brushed against Flash's shoulder, causing him to spill his beer all over his shirt.
"Watch where you're going, Parker!" Flash shouted, shoving Peter against the wall.
Peter forced a smile and tried not to inhale the smell of alcohol that was wafting off of Flash. "Hey, Flash."
"I didn't say you could talk, Parker!" A punch landed against Peter's shoulder, and Peter pretended to recoil in pain, even though it was weaker than usual.
"Last I checked, the First Amendment said I can."
"Parker, I swear to god—"
"Okay, okay!" Peter relented, holding his hands up. "But since you're here, I need to know where the drinks are."
Flash blinked. "You're serious?"
Peter nodded.
"They're in the kitchen, dumbass."
Peter closed his eyes and sighed in exasperation. "No shit, sherlock."
Flash just looked at him with a blank stare.
"You're really gonna make me say this?" Peter sighed. "Fine. Where's the kitchen?"
Flash burst out laughing, taking Peter by surprise, considering the fact that Peter had never seen him laugh, ever.
"Flash, come on. Where's the kitchen?" Peter asked again, rolling his eyes.
"Where's the kitchen?" Flash mocked, only to be met with Peter's exhausted glare. "Fine, fine. Down the hall, it'll be the first room to your left."
"Alright, thanks," Peter sighed in relief and slight surprise, jogging down the hall.
"You're welcome!" Flash shouted at his retreating figure.
Peter just stuck up his middle finger in response.
Peter emerged from the kitchen, a water in one hand and what he assumed to be fruit punch in the other. Weaving his way through the crowds of people, which seemed to have multiplied since his arrival, he searched for MJ, but she was nowhere to be found. Peter went from room to room, walking in on various people in increasingly strange positions, but he wasn't able to find MJ. Eventually, he convinced himself that she had probably run into some friends from Decathlon, and made his way back to the kitchen, sipping on his drink.
He set down MJ's water on the marble countertop and sat on the counter next to the drink, finishing off the last drops of his punch. Peter really liked the punch, and it tasted of sweet strawberries but it had a bitter undertone that Peter wrote off as an unidentifiable fruit. He refilled his drink and drank it, repeating that throughout the night, until Ned came across him.
"Peter?" Ned asked, concerned.
Peter lifted his head up slowly, as if the weight of his head was too heavy, and looked up at his friend, his eyes half-closed.
"What?" Peter mumbled, sipping the pink drink from his glass.
"Are you okay?" Ned asked slowly, a frown forming on his face.
"Course 'm okay," Peter slurred, shrugging. "D'you want some'ing to drink?" He asked, offering his glass to Ned.
Ned grabbed the drink and set it down next to Peter. "No, that's all right. Maybe you should stop drinking this."
"Nooo, I like this fruit 'unch!" Peter whined, pouting like a three year old who'd just been told that they couldn't go to Disney World.
"Fruit punch?" Ned questioned.
Discreetly, he took a sip from Peter's glass, and his face twisted when he tasted the alcohol that was masked under the sweet-tasting fruit. It had to have been spiked with vodka, Ned was almost positive. And it seemed that Peter hadn't noticed and drank enough to be drunk.
"Peter, let's not drink anymore of this, okay?" Ned bargained.
Peter crossed his arms. "Fine."
"Where's MJ at?"
"I dunno," Peter said. "One minute she was there, the next, she was gone."
"Well, lemme borrow your phone and text MJ so that she can find us," Ned offered, already grabbing Peter's phone. "What's your password?"
"Why 'an't you use your phone?" Peter asked, his words rushing together.
"My phone's with Betty." Ned replied, truthfully.
"Oh. Um, my 'assword is 06102001, I think."
"Yep, that's it, thanks man," Ned said, opening up Peter's messages and opening up MJ and Peter's text conversations.
Me:
hey mj, it's ned
MJ❤️:
what's up loser? why
do you have peter's
phone?
Me:
peter's drunk out of his
mind in the kitchen.
can you come down
here so we can leave?
MJ❤️:
holy shit, rlly? i'm
onw rn
MJ❤️:
also, you should
text stark while
you're at it, since
peter was our dd.
we need a ride
Me:
stark?
Me:
as in Tony Stark?
MJ❤️:
yep. that's the
one
Ned internally groaned at the thought of having to text Tony Stark, but seeing as Peter was drunk, Ned saw no other choice. Plus, MJ had said to do it, and she probably knew how to handle situations like this better than others. He could keep his fangirling down to a minimum, right? He was just... going to text Tony Stark (Tony Stark!!!!) about Peter being drunk and ask for a ride.
From Tony Stark.
Yeah, he could do this. Totally.
Inhaling shakily, Ned searched for Tony's contact information, frustrated when both his searches of "Stark", "Tony", "Tony Stark", and "Iron Man" came up with nothing.
"Are you done texting MJ?"
Peter's question startled Ned, causing him to jump backwards, hitting his back on the side of the countertop.
"Yeah, almost. Why, what do you need?" Ned asked, continuing his search.
"N'thing, I jus' need to check som'thing that Misser 'tark sent," Peter slurred, sipping from his drink, which he'd seemed to have refilled while Ned was preoccupied.
Ned processed what Peter had said for a few moments, since all the words sounded like the were rushed together. "Okay, I'll give it back to you soon. And I thought I told you to stop drinking!"
Peter just mumbled a few words that Ned chose to ignore, not wanting to deal with a drunk, sassy Peter. Instead, he tried typing in "Mr. Stark", but his fingers stilled over the screen when "Mr. Tin Can" came up instead. Ned frowned. He knew Peter was close to Tony, but close enough to have nicknames as contacts? It was worth a shot.
Me:
hi, is this tony stark?
Mr. Tin Can:
Depends. Who's this?
Mr. Tin Can:
And how did you get
this phone?
Me:
i'm peter's friend, ned
Me:
he might've mentioned
me? maybe?
Mr. Tin Can:
Ohhh, you're Ted.
Me:
it's ned.
Me:
with an 'n'
Mr. Tin Can:
No, I'm pretty sure
you're Ted.
Me:
whatever, it doesn't matter
Me:
can you pick us up
from this party?
Me:
please?
Mr. Tin Can:
Don't you kids have
a ride?
Me:
peter was our ride,
but he's kinda super
drunk
Mr. Tin Can:
Shit, really? I'm on
my way right now.
Mr. Tin Can:
How many of you
need a ride? And
what's the address?
Me:
it's three of us
Me:
here's the address:
[map_imbedded_
queens-newyork]
Mr. Tin Can:
Perfect. I'll be there
ten minutes, tops.
Mr. Tin Can:
Don't make me wait.
Ned let out a sigh of relief and looked up from Peter's phone, letting out a startled yelp when he saw MJ leaning against the refrigerator across from them, staring at him over the cover of her book. A small smirk formed on her face from Ned's reaction to her, and she continued to read from where she had left off.
"H-how long have you been there?" Ned asked, willing his pulse to slow down.
She shrugged, not looking up from her book. "Long enough."
Ned shook his head. "Whatever, it doesn't matter. Tony should be here in ten minutes." Ned told her, handing Peter's phone back to Peter's outstretched hand.
MJ nodded and grabbed Peter's hand, carefully helping him off of the countertop. "Good."
"You texted Misser 'tark?" Peter slurred.
"MJ made me," Ned accused, pointing at her.
MJ regarded Ned with a glare that could've killed him. "Wow. Real classy."
"If MJ said so, then it's fine," Peter mumbled.
MJ smiled at Peter, leading him out of the house, and turned back to Ned, mouthing 'You're dead'.
She probably didn't mean it.
The trio navigated through the crowds of people, MJ making sure Peter didn't stumble his way to the floor (not that he'd notice it, in his drunken state), and Ned bringing up the rear. They made their way out onto the lawn, which had emptied substantially, and Peter sat down on the grass, resting his head in his hands. Ned and MJ joined him, as they stared out onto the street, waiting for Tony to pick them up.
"Issat him?" Peter asked, pointing out a sleek black Audi A8 that had pulled up in front of the house.
"Yep," MJ said as Tony Stark stepped out of the drivers seat.
He walked up the the three teens, not caring about how dirty he was getting his shoes by walking through the beer-soaked grass, removing his sunglasses ("Who even wears sunglasses at night?" muttered MJ.) and revealing barely masked concern.
"Jesus Christ, Pete. Come on, let me help you up," Tony said, lifting Peter up almost effortlessly.
"No, Misser 'tark, I'm fine," Peter protested, disregarding the fact that he was being held in Tony's arms with his arms hanging limply to the side.
"No, you're not fine, you're drunk, and your friends need a ride home," Tony said. "And you're staying at the tower with me, I already cleared it with May."
"No, 'm fine!" Peter whined. "I wanna stay with 'ay!"
"You want to hide a killer hangover from May? Be my guest."
That promptly shut up Peter's protests.
"That's what I thought," Tony said. "Ted, MJ! Get in the car."
"Okay, Mr. Stark Tony Iron Man Sir," Ned said, eliciting a chuckle from Tony.
MJ and Ned filed into the car, Ned gaping at the luxury leather interior and MJ barely even blinking, having been used to it. Tony buckled Peter into the passenger seat and ruffled his hair, closing his door and getting into the drivers seat.
"So, where to?"
Tony had finished dropping off Peter's friends and was en route to Stark Tower, where it seemed he was spending the night. He didn't mind it, since he would die for Peter (and he almost did a few times). At some point, through the quieted radio and the chatter of Peter's friends, Peter had fallen asleep, his head resting against the console, his legs curled up to his chest.
Tony drummed his fingers against the smooth leather steering wheel, lost in his thoughts as he drove through Manhattan. Sparkling skyscrapers made up the majority of the city, each tower taller than the last. It was easy to get lost if someone wasn't familiar, but to someone like Tony, who'd grown up in the city, it seemed like the easiest thing in the world to navigate.
A soft sigh drew Tony out of his thoughts, and he glanced over at the boy. A laugh escaped Tony's lips and he shook his head. What was he going to do with Peter? Getting drunk was so unlike him that when Tony had first revived the text, he thought it was just a poor attempt at a joke. After he'd lecture Peter about the dangers of drinking, he would ask Peter exactly what happened. Tony refused to believe that Peter would drink willingly, without some sort of pressure.
The Stark Tower grew in Tony's view as they pulled up to the entrance, and Tony parked and got out of the car. Tony tossed his keys to the valet standing outside the building, and opened up the passenger-side door. He tried to shake the boy awake, but Peter wouldn't wake up, so, carefully, Tony snaked his arms underneath Peter's body and carried him out of the car. They entered the building, Tony greeting everybody with a nod and stepping in the elevator.
The metal doors opened within a few seconds of the pair being in the elevator, revealing the penthouse floor. JARVIS had been quiet since Tony had stepped foot in the building, seeming to understand that Peter was sleeping. Tony carried Peter to his room (opening the door was a struggle, but don't tell anyone that), which Peter had insisted on decorating himself (which was clear to anyone who knew the teen — it was covered with posters of his favorite superheroes [a small Iron Man poster was framed over his desk], pictures of his friends and family, and various pieces of technology scattered across the room).
He set Peter down on the bedspread and grabbed a ratty Iron Man blanket that was hidden in a corner, covering his body as best as he could. Once Tony was content that Peter was tucked in and wouldn't freeze to death overnight (chances were very unlikely anyway), he gently removed Peter's shoes and set them down beside the bed. Satisfied, Tony left the room, whispering good night and shutting the door softly behind him.
***
Peter woke up to a splitting headache and a room he had no memory of going to.
"When did I go to Stark Industries?" Peter mumbled to himself.
Peter rolled out of bed, quite literally, and fell off of the corner of his bed, banging his body against the hardwood floor. That did nothing for his headache, but increased the frequency to the point where it felt like it was bouncing around his head. He groaned, covering his eyes with his arm.
"JARVIS, can you dim the lights please?" Peter called out weakly, his voice hoarse.
"Of course, Mr. Parker," the AI responded, sounding way to chipper for the morning. "I have also notified Boss that you are awake. He is on his way as we speak."
Peter's arm flew off of his eyes and Peter instantly sat up. Tony couldn't see him like this! He hurried to the bathroom, trying to brush his teeth and comb his hair simultaneously, which was a recipe for disaster. That was how Tony found him, with his toothbrush in his hair and his comb in his mouth.
"Don't laugh, it's not funny!" Peter cautioned, pulling the comb out of his mouth.
"I'm sorry, it's just—" Tony started before cutting himself off as a wave of laughter came over him. He breathed in deeply, trying to stop his laughter, before continuing. "You look ridiculous, Underoos."
Peter gave him a tired stare. "Tell me about it."
"The hangover's hitting pretty hard, isn't it?"
Peter's head snapped up, his eyes darting wildly as he searched for a convincing lie. "I'm not hungover. I'd have to be drunk to be hungover, and I wasn't drunk."
"Pete, don't lie to me. I picked you up last night, you were drunk out of your mind. Trust me, I've been in your shoes enough times to know."
Peter rubbed his temple, wishing for the headache to go away. "I have no idea what you're talking about," he lied, straight-faced.
Tony shrugged. "Okay. JARVIS, can you bring the lights up to full brightness, please?"
"Of course—"
"NO! No, JARVIS, keep them dim, please," Peter yelled, wincing as the lights brightened and then relaxing as they dimmed again.
Tony raised his eyebrows, looking expectantly at Peter.
"Fine," Peter relented. "I got drunk last night, apparently, and now I've got a splitting headache. Are you happy?"
"No, I'm Tony. Happy's downstairs," Tony quipped, a satisfied smirk on his face.
Peter groaned. "Mr. Stark!"
"That's my name!"
"Oh my god! Please stop it with the dad jokes!"
"Fine, I will. Let's go downstairs, kiddo, I've got my world-famous hangover cure waiting for you," Tony offered. "I've also got some painkillers for that headache of yours."
"I'm pretty sure you're the only one who think it's world-famous, Mr. Stark," Peter remarked.
"It's either my world-famous hangover cure first or an explanation of why you got drunk in the first place," Tony stated. "It's your choice."
"Is that even a question?" Peter asked. "Give me the hangover cure."
fin
a/n: god, this one took me forever to write! i hope you guys enjoy this one, and drink with caution. i, for one, am too young to drink, and while i've had a few infrequent drinks, it's never been enough to cause me to get drunk, let alone hungover. so, with that being said, if anything seems wrong or isn't accurate, let me know so i can fix it.
i really hope you guys enjoyed this one, it was much more difficult to write than the others. make sure to stay safe and take care of yourselves for me. eat enough and drink enough!
until next time,
~cleo xx