i hate you, you love me (we're the perfect family)
Five AM was not a good time to get up, Peter decided as he rolled over and made his way downstairs, shivering from the cold that came with the loss of his blankets. He opened the fridge and got out a packet of eggs, counting how many he’d be able to split between his five siblings and himself when they only had three of them left. Peter decided that the two oldest, himself and his sister, Caterina, who was younger than him by two years, could have a smaller portion before they scraped enough money for groceries.
He put the eggs in the pan with oil, scrambling them for a bit before he got out eight slices of bread, buttering them and chucking the knife into the sink with the other piles of washing up he had to get around to doing (Spider-Man was taking up a lot of his time lately, he needed rest, but it seemed crime didn’t). He put cheese and ham in Caterina’s, and the two twins, who were six, Mario and Luigi’s sandwiches, and then put ham in Valentina’s, and peanut-butter and jelly in his own.
“Mattina, Pietro. (Morning, Pietro.)” Caterina muttered groggily, coming down the stairs slowly in her outfit for the day, a pair of skinny jeans coming from Mary’s old closet and one of Peter’s old t-shirts that their mother Mary had stolen from the Goodwill while she was coming down from a coke high. “Cosa c’è per colazione? (What’s for breakfast?)”
“Scrambled eggs, ketchup, and toast. When I put it in.” Peter said as she laid her head on the island for a second before she got up and put four slices of toast in, frowning at the bags under his eyes. Caterina walked upstairs and woke up their siblings, Valentina, Mario, Luigi and Carlotta.
Someone knocked at the door three times and Peter groaned, “I’ll be there in a sec!”, before walking over, not undoing the chain before he saw that no-one was there. There was a small giggle from the floor, and Peter swore, seeing a small baby wrapped in a rag laying on their front porch.
“Fuck.” he said, undoing the chain and bending down, his knees clicking as he started rocking the baby, an action familiar to him, before walking in and locking the door again. “Cat? You might want to come down here.”
The gaggle of Parker-Lombari’s grumpily walked down the stairs, the routine of waking up at 6:15 unfamiliar to them after a long weekend. Caterina immediately woke up, rushing downstairs to examine the baby.
“What are we going to name her?” Valentina said, smiling widely. She was so innocent, Peter thought, for the things she had seen. She still saw babies for what they were: children. Peter saw them as burdens, another sibling he’d have to raise. He couldn’t pass the duty onto 13-year-old Caterina, or 10-year-old Valentina, not like it’d been shoved onto him after Ricardo.
“What about you all write your favourite girl names onto a piece of paper, get us a plastic bag, and we’ll draw two out, one for her first name, one for her middle name!” Caterina said, crouching down, her smile not reaching her eyes.
“How could she just knock someone else up?” Peter spat, with a smile on his face. He had to keep smiling for the baby, she would get stressed out and start crying if not. They didn’t need angry neighbours knocking on their door with complaints.
The kids came running in as Caterina opened her mouth to reply, equipped with a pencil, paper and a plastic bag. “Me and Pietro get to contribute too though, right?”
“Si, Rina!” Carlotta grinned toothily, passing the bag to Peter. She wrote her name down in loopy handwriting that looked exactly like it belonged to a three year old.
Once all of them had written down their names, they placed them in the bag, folded up and Peter shaked it around a bit. “Would you like to pick, Mario?” he said softly. Mario nodded meekly.
He stuck his hand in and ruffled around a bit before his greasy fingers locked around a slip of paper and he pulled it out. “Elisabetta?” he pronounced with a strong accent.
“Luigi,” Caterina prompted. “We need a middle name, don’t we?” Luigi smiled at her while she propped Carlotta onto an armchair.
“Viviana.” Luigi whispered, handing the paper to Caterina.
“Elisabetta Viviana Parker-Lombari.” Peter chuckled. “That’s a mouthful.”
A few hours later, he had Elisabetta propped on his hip while he handed his siblings their lunches, kissing them all on the forehead before he put his bag on. “You’re coming with me, sorella.”
As he entered the doors of Midtown, he was greeted with laughs and shouts of “Parker, who did you knock up?” he glared as he bounced Elisabetta on his hip.
He made his way over to his locker, where Ned and MJ were waiting for him with similar confused faces. Peter opened his locker, still scowling. “She’s not mine. She’s my sister. Mary dropped her and ran, apparently.”
MJ nodded sharply before elbowing Ned. “What’s her name, then?” she asked, smiling slightly at Elisabetta. Ned nodded interested. Flash snickered as he walked past and Peter flipped him off.
“Elisabetta,” Peter cooed at her. He pronounced her name with a twinge of an italian accent, which wasn’t surprising considering the name was Italian. “We named her this morning; drew names out of a bag.”
MJ’s eyes widened. “I swear the stories you tell us have to be lies, Parker,” she said seriously. “That’s unreal.”
“We don’t know when her birthday is because Mary was probably on crack or something.”
As he walked into his Spanish class (thankfully he was fluent in both languages, Richard’s side of the family was Spanish), he was stopped by his teacher. “Peter. Is that a baby?”
“What does it look like?” he snapped, already fed up with the amount of baby questions he was getting from everyone. “She isn’t mine. Elisabetta’s my sister.”
“And no-one else could take her?” his teacher’s eyes narrowed as Peter nodded meekly. “Well, you can’t come to school with her. I’ll tell Morita you’re going home.”
Peter’s eyes widened. That was not his intention. He walked out of the classroom, his cheeks flushed red as he started cooing to Elisabetta, pulling out his flip-phone as he started messaging Tony.
underoos: can you pick me up at my house tn mr stark?
mr. stark: Kid, I told you it’s Tony. And sure, I’ll get Happy to pick you up. Why?
underoos: migraine
Peter felt bad about lying to Mr. Stark but what was he supposed to say? I’m sorry you can’t get me from school, my baby sister got dumped on our doorstep today because Mary’s too drunk and probably on drugs to take care of her and she figured that me raising one more kid couldn’t hurt, could it, since I’d already raised the rest of them.
He opened the creaky door to the house and kicked off his shoes before laying on the sofa, getting some diapers and changing Elisabetta’s (seemed they had cared enough about the smell about shit to change her diaper) before getting some milk from the fridge and heating it up in boiling water for ten minutes.
He traipsed back over to Elisabetta and turned the television on to Lazy Town, feeding her the bottle as he rocked her gently smiling and talking to her in Italian gently.
Peter recognised the text tone on his phone, placing Elisabetta on his knees, holding the bottle to her mouth and picked it up.
mr. stark: Your address, Underoos?
underoos: cant u just look it up
mr. stark: Nevermind, Pete. Good idea.
He flipped his phone back and put it on the couch and continued to feed Elisabetta until she was done. He put the bottle next to him and grabbed the nearest thing to him, which was a smelly, ripped t-shirt and put it over his shoulder as he burped Elisabetta.
Five hours later the children came traipsing into the house, raising eyebrows at Peter, who was sat on the couch sleeping, Elisabetta clutching onto his t-shirt in a similar state.
Valentina slowly nudged Peter, who came back to his senses after a while of poking and prodding at him. He blinked groggily. “Why are you here before us, idiota?”
“Mi hanno cacciato per via di Elisabetta. (They kicked me out because of Elisabetta.)” he muttered in Italian, moving the baby into the crib he had found in the attic and set up earlier. For now, it was in the living room until he figured out where in the three rooms she would stay. Caterina, Peter and Valentina shared a room, Mario, Luigi and Carlotta shared a room, so she would probably have to go in the olders room before she moved in with Mario, Luigi and Carlotta. The third bedroom was reserved for their cousins, Ben, (the only decent adult Parker) and the other side of their family, or Mary, if she ever decided to come back.
“Arseholes.” Caterina muttered, pinching Elisabetta’s cheeks as she laid her down, humming to try and get her to sleep again. “Are you going for your internship tonight, Pietro?”
“Yes,” Peter replied, getting up and putting his phone in his back pocket. He checked the date. September 17th. “Happy’s coming to pick me up here. You’ll be alright making dinner and looking after the kids, right girls?”
“Si, Pietro.” they both said in unison. A horn honked outside. Peter cursed under his breath, Caterina’s humming got louder and he waved goodbye and kissed Valentina on the forehead.
“Ci vediamo dopo! (See you later!)” Peter whispered as he went out of the door, jumping over the wooden steps onto the path leading up to the rough metal gate that helped the barbed wire surround their house. They tried. The green paint was peeling, the porch looked like shit, and there had been many a person passed out drunk or high on the grass, it looked like there was a dead patch in the shape of a human. (It had been him, more than once.) “Hi, Happy!”
The man did not reply as Peter got into the car, but his brow furrowed when Peter didn’t rapidly rant about the day he had at school, or what Ned and MJ did in the cafeteria. He just stared at the floor, bouncing his foot.
Peter flipped his phone up and down like he was waiting for something, or just needed something to fiddle with, typing in quick messages and sending them before flipping it back over.
“Are you okay?”
“Fine.” Peter replied curtly. Happy put the partition up before asking FRIDAY to relay a message to Tony to be prepared because Peter was in a mood apparently. Teenage hormones, he thought.
Peter pressed the heels of his hands into his eyes and bounced both of his knees as he thought about Caterina and Elisabetta, how they were faring. He didn’t like the thought of leaving Elisabetta at the house, even though he knew Caterina was capable of looking after children (she had seven siblings, after all), Elisabetta was new. They didn’t know how old she was, but it was clear that she had been born quite recently.
She had to adapt to a new environment, and that wasn’t always easy, as he had learned before with Carlotta. She had screamed and cried when he had tried to go to school. Now, it was easier. He knew what he was doing this time around, even though he had technically raised Mario and Luigi from the ages of 1-6, it still didn’t feel like he had done it during their infancy.
They pulled up to the tower and Peter shoved his phone into his pockets before unbuckling the seatbelt, stumbling out, his legs vibrating from where he had been bouncing them too much. He was stressing out about his sister, but who was he going to tell that? Peter didn’t need CPS or DCFS banging on their door to split them all apart, nope, it wasn’t going to happen, thank you very much.
“Thanks, Happy,” Peter said, smiling shakily. Happy just nodded and followed him into the elevator, FRIDAY greeting them both as they both worked their way up to Tony’s floor, Happy would make sure the kid got there safely before his shift ended, then he would leave.
The elevator dinged to announce their entrance as Tony got up off of the couch, a large grin on his face. He noticed the mood Happy had mentioned immediately: the bags under Peter’s eyes, his fingers wringing together, a nervous tick, the way he kept swallowing. Tony knew something was wrong.
“Alright, Underoos?” Tony slung an arm around his shoulder, pulling him close as they walked down to the lab together.
“I’m fine, Mr Stark.” Peter replied slowly, wondering why everyone wanted to know how he was doing or what he was doing at school, how well he was doing.
“Good day at school?” he asked, noticing Peter’s tensed up shoulders. Peter breathed out shakily, sitting down at his stool in the lab as they entered, mess scattered along the marble countertops as DUM-E greeted them in a robotic voice.
“It was good, Mr Stark. Spanish was a breeze.” he grinned, lying through his teeth but not caring: Pietro Parker and Peter Parker and Spider-Man would never collide with each other, but neither one could live without the other. Pietro Parker was reserved for his siblings, a caring but firm parental figure and a brother they could all rely on, Peter Parker, an intern, a genius, the next Tony Stark, and Spider-Man, the infamous vigilante that NYC could rely on.
“I’ll bet.” Tony smiled. They got to work, making web fluid, adjustments to Spider-Man’s new suit (Tony couldn’t, in good conscience, allow Peter to swing across NYC in a onesie. It just wasn’t happening), cracking jokes over AC/DC, cranked up half-way because of Peter’s enhanced senses.
Tony was in the middle of telling a ‘your mom’ joke when Peter’s phone started ringing, and Peter’s eyes widened. He watched as Peter got up and started pacing, flipping his phone open.
Caterina immediately started ranting as soon as Peter pressed it against his ear. “Noi abbiamo dimenticato. Come potremmo dimenticare? La morte di Ricardo. (We forgot. How could we forget? Ricardo’s death.)”
“Oh, shit.” Peter cursed. Tony bristled. It was the first time he had heard his intern curse, not even when he was out patrolling and fighting crime had he ever heard Peter swear. Never. “Today?”
“Sì! I bambini sono inconsolabili. Ovviamente Carlotta non ha molto Ricardo di lui, ma Mario e Luigi e Valentina? Stanno urlando il posto giù. (Yes! The kids are inconsolable. Obviously Carlotta doesn't have that much of a memory of him, but Mario and Luigi and Valentina? They're screaming the place down.)” Caterina ranted. She sounded like she was tearing her hair out. In the background, Peter could hear his brother and sister’s screams, even Carlotta and Elisabetta, they didn’t know what was going on, but everyone else was sad, so they were.
“Saro li. (I’ll be right there.)” Peter promised before hanging up the phone, turning to Tony with tears in his eyes. He fiddled with his phone. “Um, I’m so sorry, but could you drop me home? Something came up.”
“‘Course, Pete.”
Peter slid into the front seat of Tony’s black Audi, his hands shaking and his legs bouncing. “Sorry for cutting the evening short, Mr. Stark.”
“Don’t worry, kid. And, it’s Tony, you know this. Turn here, yeah?” he said, and Peter nodded. He turned into a rough looking neighbourhood. Now, Tony wasn’t the one to judge someone’s financial situation, no matter how rough it may be. But this looked like the ghetto. He knew the Parkers had it rough, but he didn’t think this rough.
“Stop here.” Peter said, slamming forward as Tony pushed the breaks roughly. “Gesu Christo, Tony! A word of warning, please.”
“Now it’s Tony?”
“Shut up.”
Tony had to give it to the Parkers - they tried. The green paint was peeling, the metal gate was hanging on by a thread, and the grass had been cut, albeit looking like it had been cut by a pair of nail clippers. A girl was sat on the steps, a grimace etched onto her face. She saw the Audi and hopped up, and Peter rolled the window down.
“Grazie, grazie, grazie. They’re all in there, wailing. I tried to take them outside so they could at least see the grave, but they wanted you. I’m so sorry. Hi, Stark. Please, help.”
Peter got out of the car and bid farewell to Tony, who had furrowed his eyebrows, looking more confused than he did earlier when Peter had received this mysterious phonecall. A grave? Tony hadn’t heard of any Parkers who had died recently. He supposed Peter would tell him once he was ready.
He waved feebly at Peter’s back, but he didn’t notice as he bolted up the stairs into the house, where Tony winced – children were screaming everywhere. It’s no wonder the roof didn’t fall off of their shabby house. He turned the Audi around before making his way out of the neighbourhood. Tony would ask Peter about it on Thursday.