Questionable Habits
The sound of forks and knives scraping on plates full of food was brushing through the room. It was a rare occasion that everyone was sat down at the table together, it wasn't that occasion today. Not with Peter lingering idle in the kitchen, unsure of what to make of his next move. He was hiding away from the laughter, hidden by the pantry wall, he could just grab something from there and move on. He couldn't risk opening the door and then crinkling a package, it was hard with the drop of conversation that dipped in and out. It would have to be at the perfect time. The calculations just weren't there.
Sometimes he was allowed. Allowed to eat food whenever he wanted. Allowed to get a cup from the cabinet and drink as he pleased. Allowed to eat with the rest of the family. But that was sometimes.
Most of the time he wasn't allowed. Like today. Miriam liked to say "I always buy you food, you don't do shit for anything in this house." He never knew when he was allowed, so he always lingered when they ate. Either they'd argue at him, or look at him like he was stupid for not sitting down with them. But he mustn't risk it either way.
He slowly opened the cabinet door and whisked a few granola bars out of their box. He lifted his shirt and placed them inbetween his abdomen and the hem of his pants, making sure it was secure, he dropped his shirt down.
He skirted around the wall, hovering towards it as a baseline to blend in. Then a fork dropped. It clanked back and forth on the metal plate and the scrapping of a chair was accompanied with it. Peter stopped in his tracks, could tell that the foot steps were getting closer to his person.
"I got a call this morning," Miriam let her hot breath linger in the air.
"Oh?" That's all that would come out. What else was there to say?
She shook her head, "turns out you're getting a new placement. You won't be needing that," her outstreched hand was millimeters from his chest, she waited with her other hand on her hip and a slight tap in her foot. Peter yanked the food out of his jeans and placed it upon her palm, never once looking up at the cold stare that he was bound to be met with if he did so.
He stayed there, paralyzed, unsure what the next move was.
"Well, get a move on! We can't let them wait for you, that's rude."
He scurried down the hall and threw open the bedroom door he had been sleeping in for eight weeks. All his belongs still mostly stored in a black garbage bag he had been lugging from house to house. He just had to get his dirty laundry in there and make sure all his textbooks were in his backpack. And that was that.
Then he was out the door. Strapped into the back of a 2004 ford focus. It smelt of fast food and cherry air freshener. He brought his legs up to the chair and wrapped his arms around his knees, garbage bag laying beside him, askew to the side so it was leaning towards the opposing door. Peter put the corner of his forehead on the cold window and watched as the short country road side turned into congested city streets.
The radio was playing some soft jazz station, the one where the radio hosts talked in old timey calm voices. They would sometimes hold rafflings for listeners to win tickets to get into some expensive, exclusive jazz clubs. They'd drink fancy wine and wear elusive clothing, not a single person under the age of fifty-two would be seen. Not unless they were eight year old Peter Parker, his father had won once before and brought him for the experience. Some experience it was, for Peter it was the last weekend he would ever get to spend with his dad. And for Richard Parker, it was a great way to mingle with the ladies by showing off he was a great single dad. The ladies digged that shit.
Three days later Peter would be in the custody of the state. So would his dad. Seven years on and Peter still hasn't been able to even hear his dad's voice.
"I think you're gonna like these guys. They have two kids around your age and they have a dog. You like dogs, right? You mentioned that little bulldog you had-" his social worker, Mary Fitzgerald, could talk for hours. It wasn't that bad, but sometimes it was strenous on the ears. He didn't hate it, per se. She just didn't know when to shut-up. He wouldn't want anyone else to chauffeur him around to new houses, or fight for him to be placed with better people when he was in a bad home. Nope. She was top dog. His emotional support human, it didn't take long for a high strung emotional eight-year-old to let loose around an older woman. He needed a maternal figure in his life, and thus Mary was for him.
"Bulldog? Oooh, Tia? She was a good dog. I miss her." Tia had been a dog his father got him in replacement for when his mom left. Tia wasn't around long, maybe three weeks max. His dad had supposedly got the dog out of a kill shelter, trying to do it some good, but Peter found the receipt for a large purchase at Petland in the towns mall. He never had an animal since.
The drive took two hours, they ended up in some highrise apartment complex in Brooklyn. Mary ushered him out and into the cold brisk air that filled the lobby. A man stood behind a pristine white marble desk that was built into the floor, he was typing away on the computer's keyboard. Peter knew it was nothing important, caught a glimpse of the tetris game on the way in.
Mary leaned over the desk, shooting the man a smile, "Hi, I'm looking for apartment C56."
"Uh-huh." More typing, real this time.
Peter gripped his garbage bag tighter between his fingers, the waiting to see who he was going to live with was nerve wracking.
"Ah, the Moresons? Yeah they told me about someone showing up. Go on ahead, 12th floor," he took an interest back in his game after the interaction.
Meanwhile, Mary and Peter shuffled themselves into a fancy elevator that even played that annoying music through the hidden speakers. Peter hated it. It was so unlike the place he grew up. The apartments back in Forest Hills didn't even have a working elevator and the stairs were rickety and splintering down the middle on some steps.
Soon enough they were waiting in the dimmed hallway, Mary rocking back and forth on her heels as she knocked on the door. Peter could hear shuffling on the otherside of the door, and some mumbling that he couldn't make out. Maybe they're trying to deduce who is going to open the door, look the most intimidating, keep the child in his place. Then a lady opened it.
She ushered them inside and gave a sympathetic glance towards him, he cast his eyes away. They were led to a large table that was set for an imaginary meal.
Don't touch it, don't touch it.
He sat down on the edge of the chair and kept his head down. He felt a hand on his knee, assuming it was Mary, he didn't budge away.
"Hi honey, I'm Amanda." Not Mary. Peter jolted away and could feel his heart beating out of his chest, out of his clothes too. Maybe they were going to eat his heart for dinner.
Amanda stood up and sighed, taking a seat of her own. "Miss Fitzgerald said you like dogs?" Peter perked up at this, finally looking at the woman's face. Her brunette bob shaped her face, her face was pale and the red lipstick she wore really popped because of it. Peter nodded. Please bring out the dog, it would be so much easier to pet an animal while ignoring the adults.
"John, go get Marley," the brunette said, to a man who wore a blue blazer and a white button up, with some loafers. He looked like he wasn't interested in any of this. Like he'd rather be golfing or going to a boring business meeting.
A few minutes later a golden retriever ran through the doorway, the dog came up to every person and sniffed them near their ankles. Peter shot his hand out when the dog made headway at him, rubbing the animal behind its ears. "She's a girl?"
"Yeah."
"Oh wow, she's so soft." Peter was so engrossed in his petting that he didn't notice Mary saying her goodbyes and leaving. He looked up to see two sets of eyes staring at him, one nicer than the other. "Hi," his voice was sheepish.
"Hi... want to take a look around the place? I can show you your room?" This woman was very eager and her smile was like a plastic barbie dolls. Peter wasn't buying it, but whatever.
"Sure."
The room was... a room. There was a bunkbed squished up against the wall, the bottom bunk was messy with bundles of blankets and two pillows that were worn down. There was a desk in the opposite corner that had papers spread about and drawings were tapped up above. Two dressers were pushed together, identical in color and length, both had small knickknacks splayed around the top. A couple of clothing items popping out of the draws of one of them. The room was clean, but definitely lived in.
Peter knew that there was always a slim chance of him being the only child living in a foster house, but he could tell that the kid living here had been here for a long, long time. Most likely an actual child of the couple, which was always the worst in Peter's opinion. The biological kids always acting as if Peter was just a waste of time, something their parents were taking care of because their real children just weren't enough. Usually resulted in awkward conversations and cold stares.
Peter didn't ask, but Amanda answered anyways, "sorry for the congestion, I told Jesus to pick-up everything in here but he was in a rush before school. The top bunk is all yours, hope you don't mind that. We can even switch it to the bottom one if that makes you more comfortable?" Peter just let her talk. Yap, yap, yap. She was overdoing it at this point, over compensating for- something.
"It's fine," Peter lied. Because none of this was fine. He just wanted to get his dad back, and he would. He would do anything to be back in his dad's custody, anything.
He met the other child in the late afternoon, he was red faced and slammed the apartments front door open so hard that it smacked into the wall. Lucky they had a door handle stopper, otherwise he'd be witnessing a brutal attack. Jesus was taller than Peter expected, based off of only the clothes in the drawer that he had rummaged through after the parents left him alone to 'settle'. During his rummaging, specifically in the kid's underwear drawer, he had withdrew a baggy full of pot. Something he could definitely use as leverage later on, maybe even just take it himself. He hasn't decided yet.
Amanda instantly stood up upon the entry of the boy, who happened to not look like either one of the adults. So not biological? She cooed over him and told him about the food in the fridge he could eat, but Jesus just shrugged her off and slammed the door to his bedroom as he went. How was Peter even supposed to bunk with that!
"Sorry about him, he probably just got into a fight with one of his friends. Happens all the time, he'll jump back, don't worry." Peter wasn't worried. He didn't give a shit, at all.
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This is the part where they were supposed to give up. Accept the reality that they were given. Move on. It was painful and it was final. Or it was in Tony's mind. He didn't know there were other options.
Tony gritted his teeth, "Adoption?" He hadn't even thought of that. Pepper hadn't even brought it up either, was she thinking of it? The way her eyes dulled out and the way her head nodded back and forth, spoke of confusion. Maybe he was just selfish, wanting to raise a kid that was their own blood. Was that selfish?
"It would be the safest route, yes. I understand it's hard to take in right now" -the Doctor opened her drawer and retrieved some booklets- "you guys are grieving the loss of something that's unattainable. Here are some pamphlets of adoption, which also has many routes." She handed them all to Pepper, as if she was the true deciding factor in all this. As if they weren't a team.
"How-how would we go about adopting a baby?" Pepper found a new confidence in her voice when she spoke, but it was layered in sadness.
"I won't lie to you guys, adopting a baby is difficult. You usually have to look overseas for this kind of thing, it's expensive and comes with risks." She pulls out a couple more pamphlets and this time hands them to Tony. "If you have any questions or concerns you can just call me at anytime. I'm here for you guys every step of the way." She sends them off with a smile.
Just like that they're back in their penthouse, feeling like they are back at square one. Tony lays out all of the pamphlets across their dining room table, each one had similar titles and they just didn't look promising.
Pepper sniffled, "I just wanted a baby."
"I know. Me too." Tony's eye's dashed around the titles again and again, and again.
"I'm going to bed," before Tony could respond that it was only the afternoon, she was already down the hallway.
A few hours later Tony was knee deep in pamphlets, documentaries, news articles and YouTube vlogs. It was the vlogs that hit him the hardest, actually seeing people live the life that could be their's.
The door made a creaking sound as it opened, Pepper's hair wild from sleep or trying to sleep. She padded her way towards Tony and took the chair next to him. She laid her hand on top of his that was occupying the computer's mouse, promptly stopping his scrolling.
"Honey-" she began to say, but Tony also had something he wanted to say too.
"Pep, there's so many options. There's so many children out there, and they don't have any home or place that's comfortable. We've got so much."
She giggled at his string of rambling, "okay, I'm listening." God she wanted this baby.
"Okay, okay. Hear me out, okay. Because I know you might disagree or just be, I don't know." He didn't want to just outright say it because she would begin to oppose right away, he knew it. He took a breath, "we should foster."
"Foster... as in fostercare?"
And this is exactly the way he knew she would respond. The confusion and maybe slight disgust in her voice really punctured his gut.
"Hear me out, there are so many kids. They're all so young and they have no where to go. And we can adopt them if we love them, but what if we go straight to adoption and the kid hates us or something. Think of it as a warranty plan," his voice trailed off at the end.
"These are kids that you're talking about Tony, not a car. Don't ever say 'warranty' when referring to living breathing children."
"Okay, yeah. But... look," he turned his screen around and opened a new tab to show her the videos that he had been watching. "So many kids Pep."
She felt a stone drop into her stomach, because these kids are all just so young and deserve loving parents. But she really wanted a baby, she wanted to experience all of motherhood. The barfing, the diapers, the eventual potty training, the not being able to sleep because of screaming. She wanted that.
Tony must've sensed her hesitancy too because he was rubbing her shoulder and whispering into her ear, "I know, I know we probably won't see a baby, but just think about it. All these kids, they are babies. They were all once babies." He hummed.
◇◇◇◇◇
Peter was more than thankful when they let him stay at his current school, this was the third placement in a row that let him continue to learn at Midtown. It almost felt like the bomb was going to drop at any minute, he was so used to them just putting him in the closest run down building near by. But his friend, Ned, was his only hope to getting his father back.
Although Ned was asking too many questions about his new placement, which was annoying because Peter just wanted to talk about their plan. "So he does drugs? Did he offer you some? It's just one kid right, around our age.. or you said two? Maybe that won't be so bad, it could be fun. We could all hang out, maybe you'll like them enough to call them your brothers?"
Peter scrunched his nose at Ned's last question, "what, no. The older one doesn't even live there and the other one- well. This kid is like a loner, he wears headphones around the house and doesn't even call Amanda 'mom'. He's weird."
"Uh, we're weird. You've got some questionable habits too." They walked into their math class and slung their bags onto the floor.
"I don't have any 'questionable' habits."
"Yes you do-" Ned paused to grab out his binder and flip through his worksheets to find the homework that was due. Meanwhile, Peter dug around in his backpack, where his loose paper's were crumbled without a single folder to hold them together. "-dumpster diving? Yeah that's questionable."
"Dude," Peter yell whispered. The only reason Peter let Ned find out about his unusual activity was because he saw something he couldn't pass up when he was walking home with Ned. And yeah, not one of his best moments, climbing knee deep into an apartment complexes communal dumpster, but he had to do what he had to do. How could he just walk by a perfectly good xbox. It was perfect, in Peter's eyes, that is. Someone had blown the disk compartment, but he wasn't going to use it for games anyways. He had ran straight home and locked the door to his room and immediately took a screw driver to it.
Ned shrugged and smiled when he found his completed assignment, he laid it in front of himself and waited for their teacher to collect it. Peter found his too, it was uncomplete. He leaned over and started jotting down Ned's answers, Ned didn't say anything. It was a little dance that they did while they were in class. Peter wouldn't have been able to maintain his grades if it wasn't for Ned.
Peter stopped writing when their teacher, Mrs. Danvers, made it to their desks to get the papers. She took a second to look over Peter's wrinkled homework, Peter could've sworn he heard a sigh come past her lips as she moved on to the students behind them. Whatever.
"So are your parents nice?"
"Foster parents, Ned. And... yeah, they're a little too nice." Ned cocked his head to the side, the problem had always been that they're not nice, so what's wrong with them being nice? "I just can tell they're faking it and Amanda just forces a happy tone out of her mouth. It just feels off... like, like toon town."
"What about your foster dad?"
So here's the thing, Peter always avoided the older men after the first two times he had been tricked. He doesn't even look Ned's dad in the eyes, hell he can't even interact very well with his male teachers. It's always performative when he has to answer questions in class or do something in academic decathlon when others are watching. God it was stupid.
"No, yeah. He's nice too, sorta. I don't know, he works a lot and Amanda usually prompts him to talk at dinner. Which is a whole other thing by the way. But, yeah, yeah, it's fine." Was it fine? He could feel the man's eyes on him whenever he enters the house, like two snipers aiming at their target from a skyscraper far away. He's not paranoid, somethings going to happen. It is.
He threw his notebook onto the table next to his lunchtray. He opened to the latest page, it was full of sentences that were scratched out in black and blue ink. Things that didn't work or just didn't make sense, such as Peter's brilliant plan to smuggle his dad out of prison. Ned had shot down that idea right away and Peter had glared him down the whole time he had wrote lines over the lettering.
"Okay, I was thinking that I start off by crying-"
"Again?"
"-I can then. Yeah, again. Then I can say how much I miss his cooking or something. Maybe she'll actually take me to visit him, then I can prove to her in person how good he is."
"Don't- don't say cooking. Say like-" Ned snapped his fingers when he realized, "-reading, you miss him reading to you. Then you can convince her that you need to see him, so he can read to you."
Peter lowered his eyebrows and closed his lips together, "really? Reading? 'Oh how I miss my father's bedtime stories.' What am I, eight?"
"Come on, how else is she going to let you see him?" Ned snatched the notebook out of his hands and opened a pen before he began writing.
He rushed a hand through his messy curls. These plans never fucking work. He hasn't seen his dad in person since he left. Sure he's seen him, only by going onto the federal data base when he would move prisons. Ned was good at tracking those. The latest picture had come out a year ago, his hair had been more grey and this time around he smiled in the picture. They had the same smile.
"Fine. Fine, I'll do it."
◇◇◇◇◇
Jesus was sitting on his bunk, headphones blaring, the music loud enough that it was seeping into the room. He was smiling on and off, looking off into the distance. It was... something. Drugs, Peter had guessed. It was definitely that, it wasn't hard to guess based off the randomly emotions, but also he could smell it in the air.
Peter was on the floor, putting together a project for history and sneaking granola bars out of his bottom dresser drawer. It was due tomorrow, he had known about it for a month by now. He was just getting ready to glue Alexander Hamilton's head into the middle when the door opened. John. Peter sat up straighter.
John was holding Marley by the collar and he looked pissed. Here's the thing about John, he had this mustache that could fit into one of three categories; pedo, police officer or fireman. Two out of the three were things that Peter didn't mess with, so excuse him for knocking over the glue onto his poster. Shit.
"Your dog took a shit in the living room, go clean it up!" The pedo pushed the dog into the room and slammed the door closed.
Peter froze for a solid ten seconds and then scrambled to clean up the sticky mess. Peter knew he was talking to Jesus, but he felt like he did something wrong too. Not that Jesus did anything wrong. Certainly it was an accident, Marley was a good dog, but Jesus could be neglectful when it came to feeding her or taking her out at a reasonable time.
Marley came and laid beside Peter's leg, Peter would've pet her too, but his hands were covered in the clear substance. Didn't want to risk her fur sticking to his hand, so he got up and walked out to the bathroom. The aroma hit his face instantly, the dog definitely did a goodjob leaving a present.
As he was washing his hands, throughly he would add, screaming could be heard down the hall. He inched his way towards the closed door, and maybe it wasn't a good idea, but who cares. He shoved his ear against it.
"He's not staying in this house!"
"John. He is your son."
"I don't give a damn who he is, he did cocaine."
"It was one time!"
"One time too many, he can stay wherever the fuck he is. Don't try to persuade me on this."
"Look, he was struggling. It's not his fault. He had a rough childhood."
"I didn't want these fucking kids! You did! If you want a druggy in this house so bad, you can take Jesus and Martin and go! Leave!"
"...you don't mean that."
"You chose to bring another one in here too, how irresponsible are you Amanda!? The kids a fucking mute half the goddamn time and he doesn't eat a damn thing I make. He's a waste of space in here!"
"I get you're angry, but they're just kids! They're children!"
"I'm gonna go, I'll be-"
Peter didn't hear the rest as he heard shuffling towards the door, maybe even a hand on the handle. He tiptoe ran back to the bedroom and just made it inside when the master bedroom door opened. Jesus was still on the bed, ignoring his problems and Marley was... on his project that was unfixable now. Another F wouldn't hurt his final grade too bad, probably.
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Classes were booorrring and super long, that's one thing Tony had decided on. Was this even a class? The lady just kept droning on and on and on. But this was the first step they had to take in order to get their foster care license.
"That wasn't a class Tony, it was an informational meeting. We won't take the classes until we finish all the paperwork."
"Oh."
She blinked at him, "you've got to take this seriously."
"I am taking this seriously, but it was kinda hard to pay attention when you're sitting in a class-" Pepper gave him a sideeye, "-a meeting, with a teacher, or an- information lady, who was wearing a bandana around her neck. This isn't the fifties Pep, it just isn't in style anymore."
"Then stop paying attention to what they're wearing and start focusing on the task at hand! I don't want to mess this up!" Oh shoot, and now she was crying.
"Honey," he wrapped his arms around her hips and pulled her close, "I'm sorry. I'm just a bit overwhelmed, that's all."
She leaned in and gave him a peck on the lips, knowing how his nerves sometimes ran rampid, like they had a mind of their own and they did. "We're going to do this."
"Yes we are."