Peter blinked the sleep out of his eyes, feeling Ben snoozing against his side in Peter’s specialty; a blanket Ben-rito, while the New Hope DVD menu music played.
Wait.
Shit.
Peter scrambled to carefully get the DVD out of the player and into its case. He would have to play it off like Quentin was really drunk if he questioned seeing a movie he probably didn’t even remember buying, he couldn’t lose this movie, not after everything.
Ben whined behind him at being woken up, and Peter shushed him gently as he stood up and tiptoed towards the bedroom, ready to face the possible consequences of last night’s argument.
But the door was open, and the bed was empty.
That was weird.
Peter dashed towards the front door and opened it to check and;
The driveway was empty.
Beck never came home last night.
In the time that he had been kidnapped, Beck had never stayed a full night away from Peter, aside from the night he brought home Ben.
Bizarrely, Peter wonders if he’s off kidnapping another child to bring home. Peter shook his head, it was too early to think about that.
“C’n we have breakfast?” Ben slurred blearily somewhere behind him, probably after he unwrapped himself from the blankets.
“Sure, bug.” Peter said, distractedly as he closed the door.
Maybe Beck was in the drunk tank, Peter considered as he started to make scrambled eggs. The man had a bad habit of getting so drunk the bartender kicks him out, and it wouldn’t be out of the question for him to start a fight. The police were probably called to deal with the violent jackass, and he was arrested.
Peter figured he could never be that lucky, but he could dream.
If Beck got arrested for being drunk, he could easily let his and Ben’s captivity slip, someone could recognize “Peter” as in “Peter Parker, that kid who went missing a few years ago” and get in contact with Tony and May.
He could finally take Ben home.
Too bad it was a total pipe dream.
“Daddy, are the eggs done?” Ben’s voice broke Peter out of his thoughts. “Are you okay?”
“Huh?” For an alarming second, Peter forgot what he was doing. Thankfully, he hadn’t actually turned the stove on before he got lost in his own mind.
“Daddy?”
“Ummm, just a few more minutes, bug!”
For putting up with whatever the hell that was, Ben got extra cheese in his eggs.
Peter could fantasize all he wanted, he knew even when he was gone, Beck held all the cards.
He would probably be back by dinner.
—-
If Ben hadn’t noticed Quentin’s absence this morning, he certainly did right before dinner. This was despite Peter attempting to cheer the boy up and take his mind off of last night.
“Daddy, where’d Papa go?” The little boy finally asked, approaching Peter while he was making them Mac and Cheese.
Peter wanted to lie to Ben, wanted to give him an actual answer, but looking into those big brown eyes made it impossible.
“I don’t know, kiddo.”
“When’s he coming back?”
“Don’t know that either.” Peter said, scooping the boy up. Ben seemed to be thinking hard.
“What’s going on in that little noggin?” Peter asked playfully.
Ben looked away.
“I dunno.” He sounded less than convincing.
“Well, if you figure it out, I would love to know.” Peter said, sincerely, nuzzling the little boy’s hair before settling him on his hip and continuing stirring the pot.
They ate in front of the TV again, and watched Toy Story for the millionth time simply because Ben loved it.
——
Peter had been glancing at the door all day, but after Ben was put to bed, nothing could distract him from watching, waiting for Beck to return.
Until he heard Ben sobbing in his room. Breaking his staring contest with the closed door, Peter ran into Ben’s room.
“What’s up, bug?” Peter asked, flicking the light switch.
Ben was sitting in the middle of his bed, wrapped in his blanket, looking up at him miserably. He let out a small whimper, and Peter pulled the boy into his lap, wiping at his tears.
“What’s wrong, buddy? Nightmare?” Peter asked, rubbing the boy’s back.
“Did-“ Ben sniffed, speaking so softly. “Did Papa leave because I was bad?”
Peter’s heart cracked in half as he held the boy as tight as possible.
“No. Absolutely not.” He stated firmly, “you’re so good, you’re the best. Papa…”
Ben looked up at him with wide eyes and there it was again, the desire to tell all his secrets, but Ben didn’t need to be burdened with Peter’s problems, he was too small to be burdened with the problems and hurt the truth of their situation would give him.
“Papa was just… not feeling like himself.” Peter lied. Ben didn’t look totally convinced.
“Look,” Peter said, with as much conviction as he could muster, holding Ben’s shoulders and facing him. “Papa leaving was absolutely not your fault, understand?”
Ben reluctantly nodded.
“Good.” Peter said, pulling him back into a hug. He felt exhausted, all of a sudden. “I love you so much, Benny-bug.”
Peter laid down in Ben’s bed, with the boy on his chest, and they both fell asleep.
Peter forgot to dream that night.
—-
Peter woke up feeling somehow well rested, but still full of dread.
Beck hadn’t returned last night either.
Peter felt so, so anxious. He put on some music and a movie at the same time for background noise, started cleaning everything in the house, doing all the laundry, and organizing everything. Ben helped, both by helping clean and inadvertently by making more mess to clean when he got bored of cleaning.
The strategy worked really well to drown out his thoughts as long as he kept moving.
Eventually he had to stop moving and that satisfying feeling about having cleaned the whole house still didn’t cover the gnawing pit in his stomach.
He and Ben both had trouble sleeping, so Peter wound up falling asleep cuddled up with his son again.
—-
On day three, with Quentin still MIA and nothing left to clean; they made messes.
They baked, painted, Peter cut his and Ben’s hair, they made epic scenes with all of Ben’s toys, played with the hose outside, and they made a fort in the living room. Even when Ben took his nap, Peter still worked to pull out absolutely everything they could need for all their activities, and more.
Music and the TV blared loudly for most of the day to drown out the thoughts and feelings of abandonment and death that Peter couldn’t give words to, and couldn’t let show for Ben’s sake.
Far too late that night, Peter fell asleep with Ben in their fort, waiting for when the dread he was feeling would eat him alive.
He dreamt of Beck’s ghost dragging him and Ben screaming into darkness.
—-
On day four, Peter had officially decided.
Beck was dead or he had given up on them. He and Ben were too much trouble, too broken, and too stubborn, and he cut his losses.
Or he was dead.
Peter felt the restless pit in his stomach scratch and claw as he looked over at Ben eating toast for breakfast, his brain conjuring up images without his permission of the little boy starving to death.
His hand tingled as he wondered, not for the first time, if the force field would hurt Ben. It was a terrible plan; it wasn’t likely that Ben would be able to find people, far more likely that Ben would simply die out there, scared and alone; a horrible fate to subject anyone to.
Even more likely that Quentin had programmed the field to hurt the boy too.
Peter didn’t want to risk Ben experiencing that.
Although, he still wasn’t sure part of not wanting to test it wasn’t due to his own selfishness not wanting to be left on his own.
Peter laid with these thoughts for far too long before he finally got up, robotically getting himself and Ben ready for the day, unsure why he was even bothering.
If they were found would anyone know if he and Ben brushed their teeth or combed their hair? That they got dressed this morning?
Would anyone care?
Peter played with Ben until putting the boy down for a nap, then he grabbed the kitchen timer, went into the bathroom, sat in the empty tub, and hyperventilated. He had the breakdown he wanted to keep Ben from seeing.
Goddamn Quentin.
Damn him for doing and saying what he did to Peter. To Ben.
For not being here.
Peter had wished the man dead how many times? But faced with the possibility, Peter was panicking.
What were they going to do about food? Electricity, water? Peter couldn’t leave, and on the off chance Ben could leave; he couldn’t do any of that. Beck bought everything, it was his fucking house they were trapped in.
He hated the man, but he relied on him.
Ben relied on him.
Without him they were as good as dead.
Had Beck broken him that much?
The question drew out a broken huff of laughter as Peter hugged his knees.
There was the nice thought that Beck had been caught, and was being interrogated, but it wasn’t likely. The man had proven himself particularly slippery, and great at not getting caught, but was also not nearly strong enough to handle an interrogation from a determined Avenger.
In the first few months here, a common fantasy of Peter’s had been what Black Widow would do to Beck if she ever came across him.
Peter allowed himself this breakdown until the kitchen timer went off, and he pulled himself together; tightly packing his breakdown back into its bottle. He then went back out to check on Ben, who was just waking up from his nap.
Peter was going to keep him happy for as long as he could despite everything. It’s what he deserves.
—-
Peter didn’t know or care what time it was. The only thing he cared about was the little boy in front of him, whom he was playing…something with. Peter didn’t care what the game was, only caring about studying the details in the happy expression on Ben’s face, because there was no one else who could, possibly no one else who ever would be able to see the way this little boy smiled and laughed as he played.
It felt wrong to use Ben’s emotions to keep him together, but he needed something to keep himself together so Ben wouldn’t realize that they were likely on borrowed time.
Suddenly, there was sound coming from the driveway. At first, Peter thought it was his imagination making him hear the rumbling of an engine and the crunch of gravel and dirt. The sound of Quentin coming home had been imprinted into his skull, after all, maybe the stress was resulting in auditory hallucinations.
Until Ben seemed to hear it. The boy seemed to stiffen up, clutching his toys tighter.
Peter faces the door, standing up as Quentin fucking Beck walks in. The man was alive, and here, and Peter hated that he felt so relieved.
Peter was rooted to the spot, but Ben hid himself behind his leg, and Peter let him. Despite his reliance on the man, and his hated relief at seeing him, Peter hadn’t forgotten what he said to the boy.
Quentin Beck stared at them from the door, he looked like a mess. The man has an arm in a cast and sling, his face was painted with bruises from his jawline down under his shirt. His left eye was red from a clear burst blood vessel, and his face is scratched to hell, one even had a butterfly bandage over it.
“Peter, Ben,” Beck breathes, his voice awash with emotions and exhaustion. With relief. The man held his good arm up as he walked over to them, clearly looking for an embrace. Peter is too busy being stuck still, pinned, unable to think properly due to the emotional hurricane howling inside of him.
“What- what happened to you?” Peter demanded, every emotion he felt these past four days being poured into his questioning.“You’re hurt, what happened? Where were you?”
“I was-“ Beck winced, closing his eyes in clear pain before opening them again. The man’s face looked even worse up close, “After our fight, I went to a bar and got pretty drunk” he explained, “I don’t remember all that much, but when I left I-“
Beck sighed before continuing.
“I got hit by a car”
Peter stares in pure disbelief, mouth open like a fish on land.
Hit by a car?
Hit by a fucking car?
“So all this time…” Peter was struggling to process this. “All this time you’ve been in the hospital?” He felt so stupid. Why hadn’t he considered that? Why had he just jumped to, and fixated on, the worst situation possible, and just accept it as the truth?
“Yeah, I guess.”
This man was truly driving him insane.
“You guess?”
“Well, I was unconscious for a lot of it, Peter.” Beck says. “I know they did some kind of surgery or something. Once I was fully aware, I left, but-“
“You just left?” Peter grabbed his hair, wanting to pull all of it out. “Did they even discharge you?”
Beck has the gall to shake his head and Peter scoffs incredulously.
“They were in the middle of treating you for god even knows what and you just…” Peter feels all his steam leave him. What’s the point? He’s not dead, not gone, not arrested. Peter wasn’t going to die. Ben wasn’t going to die.
It was back to the status quo for them.
Peter feel’s suddenly guilty, having somehow forgotten Ben hidden against his leg. He puts his hand in the boy’s hair in an attempt to comfort him.
Beck seems to remember that Ben is there too, and he crouches down to the boy’s eye level.
“Ben, what I said was horrible. I was upset and stressed, and I am so sorry. I promise I didn’t mean a word of it. Do you forgive me?” He says, holding a hand out. Ben reluctantly took the man’s hand, but didn’t move from behind Peter. Beck rubbed his thumb over the boy’s knuckles.
“I thought you left.” Peter whispers, not even meaning to. The reality of the situation hitting him, bringing him to his knees in tears.
“I thought you left me here.” He cries. Beck breaks eye contact with Ben, letting go to wrap his arm around Peter’s shoulders.
“No, no, no.” Beck coos, stroking Peter’s back. “Listen to me,” Quentin stops rubbing Peter’s back to hold his face and meet his gaze.
“Listen to me.” The man said, looking into Peter’s eyes, then turning to meet Ben’s, “look at me, both of you.”
Peter does, a quick glance shows Ben doing the same, Beck wipes a tear from his face. “I will never leave you.” The man promises. “Never. It doesn’t matter how many fights we get into.” He looks at Peter, before looking to Ben for the next part. “Or how mad I get. I will never ever leave you two, ever.”
Peter hopes Ben is comforted, because he isn’t. Not totally at least. It is comforting in a way, knowing that they won’t be left to endure the death he was so sure of. But at the same time, he was shaken. He didn’t want it. He didn’t want Beck never to leave them, he wanted to go home and take Ben with him. He wanted Beck far away from them, and for he and Ben to be far from here.
So Peter was absolutely not comforted by Beck’s promise. But he has to pretend that he is.
He leans into the hand cradling his face, and lets his tears do the lying for him. He doesn’t have to fake the relief he feels, though. Beck moves in to kiss him.
“I’d die before leaving you two, I’d just die.” Beck says. His words make Peter feel like he’s swallowing a rock.
——
After some painkillers, dinner, Peter taking stock of Quentin’s numerous injuries (the damage is intense, and Peter doesn’t want to know how Beck will deal with it without painkillers, at least they have antibiotics.), and Ben being put to bed. The two of them are sprawled out in bed. Beck had wanted a welcome home gift, and it’s not like Peter could refuse.
Beck combs his hand through Peter’s hair, as he leans against the man’s chest. He can’t help but stare at the surgical wound on the opposite side, and the painter’s palette of bruises around it.
This is so fucked up it actually feels comical in its own fucked up way.
“No more arguments.” Beck says. “From now on we talk about how we feel like adults.”
Peter hums in agreement, too tired to point out the hypocrisy of that promise coming from Quentin Beck. How he hated when Peter told him how he felt and was twice as passive aggressive, on top of his actual aggression.
“I want to help more with Ben, too. He needs both of us.”
Peter hums to agree again, hoping Beck forgets this promise. He doesn’t want to deal with more of the stress their interactions already give him. He doesn’t want to force Ben to forgive the man, and doesn’t want to fear the outcome when Ben’s reluctance to forgive him inevitably results in him blowing up at the little boy.
Eventually they both fall asleep, Peter dreams of May meeting Ben. She tells him to hold on for just a little longer.
He would.
He had to.
For just a little longer.