I don't want to want.
He didn’t want anyone else to die. He didn’t want anyone else to die, but instead of getting what he wanted he was going to have to watch someone die. It always had to be someone. Always.
He felt awful. Absolutely horrid.
He didn’t have a reason to be upset anymore. He got what he wanted, Mister Stark told him exactly what he wanted to hear. He was still upset though. Mister Stark told him exactly what he wanted to hear-even if it wasn’t true. That he was deserving, and doing well enough-and that he got where he needed to be. Mister Stark even went as far as to try and make him feel better by trying to tell him he did the same.
He did all of that, and here Peter was. Still crying-for no reason. The hug helped-not much, but it was better than burying his head in his knees. It was just awkward to lean over the center console, and over what could be food just for someone to wrap their arms around his shoulders-and not because he was helping them with something-or pulling them out of a rather sticky (ahah) situation.
It might have helped that Mister Stark smelled the same-yes his whole…overbearing cologne thing had died down-no, it hadn’t been erased. It was the same-more or less. Peter was bigger too-he wasn’t a kid anymore. He’d never be one again.
“It’s alright bud, I know.” He wasn’t too sure how much of that was true. It didn’t really matter though, did it? It’s not like Peter knew what was going on with him.
He didn’t really have to think about it, did he? Mister Stark said some things, he said some things. He didn’t plan on saying much more. He was tired. He was tired, and he didn’t want to do it anymore-like it wasn’t the job he actively chose. He chose a job where people would die-that’s like the biggest cliche of cliches he chose a job where he knew that he’d see people get hurt-see people die, and now he can’t handle it.
When did everything get so hard?
When was anything ever easy?
He just wanted to go to bed. He had things to think about, and things to probably overwork himself untangling, and he’d rather wait until his eyes were done burning, and he was curled up somewhere warm. He didn’t get that though, he got to sit there in the car, with his head buried in his ex-? Yeah….his ex-mentors shoulder, and be as upset as he wanted while thoughts went in one ear, and out the other.
“We got to work on your self-talk though buddy-that was rough.” When did Peter-two start to sound like Tony Stark? Was it the other way around? Did it matter? No, it probably didn’t. It still made him smile a bit despite himself. He doubted that it was that important. It was probably more important than he thought it was-but it was likely just another old man tactic.
“You sound like Peter-Two.”
“Mhm, it sounds like Peter-Two knows his shit.” The windshield wipers were too loud. They were swiping hopelessly at nearly nothing, and it was really getting under Peter’s nerves. At least he wasn’t going crazy. Not yet anyway.
“I missed you Mister Stark.”
“I missed you too, kid.” He could just go to sleep right there, ignore the buzz of incoherent sentence-fragments claiming to be thoughts, and go to sleep. He would have too-if not for the return of the lump in his throat.
“I’m sorry everything is messed up.” Even if it wasn’t ‘his’ fault according to Mister-I-did-lot’s-wrong-Stark, he still needed to apologize. Everything was messed up-and the only solution-or cause he could think of to blame was Parker luck. Might as well apologize for the thing that’s been tormenting him for years now.
“I know you are. I am too.” They sat there like that in the car until Peter felt far past crying, and Mister Stark let him slink back into his own seat. He didn’t pay any mind to the relevant thoughts he was having. Did he want to quit? It wasn’t important right now, even though either choice felt like the heaviest, most final decision he’d ever make. He knew that wasn’t true-common sense did anyway. He could go back. Start doing it again-or stop later. But it didn’t seem like a feasible option. They were both final decisions, that’s what they sounded like, and that’s what they felt like. He knew which one he was supposed to choose.
He also knew he wasn’t going to choose. Pretending he didn’t have a choice-which if he thought about it he really shouldn’t consider having-even after what Mister Stark said-pretending he didn’t have a choice made it easier to ignore the fact that he wanted to do something that would-could endanger like…everyone. Ruin their lives-their days. Get them killed.
He could only intervene on little things, there’s other heroes-and he’s close to Hell’s Kitchen.
He’s been to space-twice-and crushed by buildings.
He’s not friendly-neighborhood anymore.
“Are you alright now?” No.
“I guess.” Mister Stark didn’t look convinced-and Peter frankly wasn’t convinced himself. He hadn’t sounded convincing at all. He was too tired to be convincing. Too tired, and much too cried out. He didn’t want to deal with any of this anymore.
Maybe he wouldn’t wake up tomorrow. Maybe he’d wake up weeks later.
Or not at all. Right now he’d rather be in his cocoon-ish bed, with his eyes shut, pretending that he’d wake up soon, and find himself back in his old room, with May telling him he’s late. He’d remember to shut that window, and the space around his bed would be cool-not cold, and it would be hot inside of the blankets, and he’d be so comfortable he’d dream about May again. He’d wake up sad sure, but he’d get to see her, and hear her voice.
That was worth some stupid tears. It was worth upsetting himself-maybe he’d get lucky, and he’d have some kind of concussion, and he’d stay out.
This could be a dream.
“You guess?” Peter made some kind of motion with his head that resembled a nod, watching the snow slowly freeze to the windshield. Mister Stark shifted around somewhere next to him with a sigh, picking up the second drink he’d gotten by the lid. “Here, why don’t you drink some hot….well warm chocolate. It’ll make you feel better.” Peter hadn’t thought about food. Now that something somewhat-nutritional was being offered, his appetite decided to make an appearance. It was unwelcomed. He knew how it went-he’d tire himself out of everything else, and then he’d be hungry. Not the mild-hungry that’d persisted back when he still had a family, and a limited budget, but the type of hunger he just couldn’t satisfy on his selfie-based income. He didn’t have enough food at home to last him the week-especially not if he went around trying to be full of all things. He should have kept crying.
It’s hard to be unnecessarily hungry when he’s crying his eyes out.
The ‘warm chocolate’, as Mister Stark had called it, was indeed lukewarm, and awfully grainy. Peter made an attempt to drink it down anyway.
“I know that today’s hard-so I’m not going to push for…more, but tomorrow-if you’re planning on being home, I was hoping we could try and figure out what actually happened?” He has other things to do-such-well, he would have-regardless of if he felt like doing them or not.
“I’ll…I’ll be home in the morning.” Hopefully-if he’s lucky, this is going to be one of those odd dreams, and he’ll wake up where he left off, saving people, without a nagging want in his mind.
“Alright-well, let’s get you home then.”