It's Just Insane
Peter was bored. He sighed to himself as he rolled over to the other side of the bed. It still felt so weird how he could do that. The bed was so big that he didn't fall off. It didn't squeak underneath his movement, either. The mattress was so thick and soft that it smoothed out his action. The way he sunk into it made him feel as if he was infinitely drowning. The crispness of the cover and the pillowcase that brushed against his skin screamed at him that they were new and clean.
He stared into the darkness of the room before his eyes. He could make out the dim silhouette of the four closets that covered the entire wall on one side. It made him think of the old ragged shirts and two pairs of worn-out jeans that were inside one of them. Those didn't even fill one small corner which meant that the closet was still practically empty. That much void was just the amount of difference between him and what was supposed to be his new life.
Peter turned his eyes toward the bedside table. He stretched his arm out and reached for his phone. The cracked screen of his phone lit up to show the time.
2:18.
Peter groaned in irritation. It had marked 11:13 when Peter decided to call it a night and go to sleep a little earlier than usual. Then he spent an hour and a half on his phone meaninglessly surfing the internet and social media pages just to tire himself out. It was a complete failure. Now he was more wide awake, so he decided to put the phone down and try to summon sleep the old-fashioned way in the dark. It was 1:09 when he did so.
That meant he had spent more than an hour just twisting and tossing this way and that.
What irritated him more was that his body was actually exhausted. Peter assumed it was the nervousness and tension that took hold of him the entire day. He had really thought that he would be falling asleep instantly. But his mind, for some unknown reason, was refusing to let him get lost in the blissful nothingness and forget about all the complexity in his life.
You might think that it was a good thing that Peter now came to live with his biological father ― who happens to be one of the richest, smartest, and most well-known people in the entire world. That Peter's life was going to be instantly better, his problems all solved overnight. In fact, that was what Peter himself had thought. He, like any other orphans (especially those who were to live with non-relatives that were clearly not so willing to take them in), used to dream about a day when his long-lost relative would show up at the doorstep and pull him out of the hellish pit called the foster home. It was just some fantasy, a happy and thrilling fantasy, that he would picture whenever life was hard. And Peter had always thought of such a thing, too.
He just never believed that it would actually happen.
Yet, now that it actually happened…. Everything was just so confusing. Everything seemed mixed up. To suddenly acquire a father… and a brother, too…. It was unnerving, to say the least. And every moment that Peter had to spend with either of them was awkward and uncomfortable. Both of them were nice people, of course. It was just that Peter was not used to having anyone close to him in the sense of family, especially after losing his aunt and uncle.
Peter sighed once again. wishing that the following morning would never come. Then again, Earth never stopped spinning, the sun rose every morning, and Peter never got what he wanted. It is just the way things are.
Peter doesn't remember how or when he finally got to fall asleep. He just knows that he somehow managed to sleep. One moment, he was staring into the darkness, and the next he is opening his eyes to a brightly lit room.
He blinks and tries to pry open his half-closed eyes to blankly stare at the white pillowcase that his head is buried into. His empty mind has absolutely no idea how long he was out. Yet, judging by the stiffness of his body and the fogginess of his mind, he knows that it probably isn't enough.
Peter groans as he slowly raises his unwilling arm to pick up his phone. He turns its screen on and squints his eyes to check the time.
8:48.
At first, he doesn't register what he is seeing. His eyes that are hardly open in the first place are already shutting once again. His subconsciousness and instinct are ready to have him roll over to the other side and get back underneath the soft covers. So it takes a few seconds for him to truly realize the time.
Once he does, Peter's eyes snap open and he shoots up from the spot to sit up straight. He frantically rechecks the time. He curses to himself and hurriedly gets off the bed onto his feet.
Then he notices the unfamiliar interior of the room. That is when he finally realizes that he is no longer in the old smelly room he used to share with other foster kids.
He sighs in annoyance before rubbing his face tiredly. His whole body is stiff and aching but his mind is now too fully awake for him to go back and get more sleep. Thus, Peter decides to start his day. He begins by scratching his head and picking up his glasses from the bedside table.
He slowly opens the door of the room, cautious as if it would make a squeaking sound, and steps out. It almost feels like he is trying to sneak around. He knows in the back of his mind that he probably shouldn't have to. Still, he cannot help the need to be careful around the fancy people living in billion-dollar-worth of a house.
Peter looks around and recalls the direction to the kitchen. He quietly walks through the short hallway, trying both unconsciously and intentionally not to make any sound. Soon after, he comes into view of the quietness of the wide and empty lounge and the squeaky clean kitchen. He stops in his tracks and stands still, his mind questioning what he should do. He soon concludes that he can use a glass of water to freshen up. So he slowly moves his steps into the kitchen.
You could easily see how high-end the said area is. The shiny marble tiles give a classy look yet a highly modern feel. There is a big dining table on one side with a total of eight chairs around it. Peter cannot help the thought that it is too big for just the three of the residents on that floor (he did hear that there are other people ― and by people, it means none other than the Avengers themselves ― residing in other floors that resembled the one he is now standing in). Probably one of the showcases of the wealth and capability of a billionaire, Peter thinks. On the other side are all the gadgets and spaces for the actual cooking, including the island-type kitchen counter, an oven, a gas stove, many cupboards both on the floor and hanging from the ceiling, and a very fancy refrigerator.
Peter looks from one cupboard to another, wondering where in those many storages the drinking cups are. He carefully tries opening them one by one and just reaches for the third one―
"You're up early."
The voice comes from behind him and out of nowhere. Peter literally jumps a foot on the spot he is standing. He recognizes the voice as Tony's and turns around to face him.
"Well," the man says, blinking at him. "Didn't mean to scare you."
"I, uh..." Peter speaks reflexively, trying to come up with adequate words and a good enough excuse. "I was just, um..."
Tony casually walks toward him. Peter cannot help but flinch, instant fear flashing through his mind. He knows that Tony is most likely not going to spank or whip him, but his old habits of bracing for the worst do not die easily.
Tony momentarily stops and eyes the boy. He seems to have noticed Peter's discomfort. For a moment, he looks like he has something to say. Yet, he does not say anything as he comes forth in a casual stride.
"It seems like you're looking for something," he says as he reaches for the coffee machine on the counter that Peter is standing directly in front of.
Peter steps back to give the man some room.
"I was…" he begins. "I was just… getting some water."
Tony turns to one of the cupboards above ― specifically the one right next to the one that Peter was opening when Tony arrived. He pulls out two mugs, places one next to the coffee machine, walks over to the fridge with the other, and pours some cold water from a small tank placed inside it. Peter just stands still, fidgeting his hands and watching the whole thing. Tony returns to Peter and hands him the cup. Peter takes it rather nervously.
"Thank you," he says.
Tony responds with a casual raise of his eyebrows and turns his attention back to his coffee. Peter brings the cup to his mouth and starts drinking the water.
"What do you want for breakfast?" He says to Peter, although he is not looking at him.
Peter stops in the middle of drinking and looks at Tony. He quickly lowers the cup while swallowing the mouthful of cool water.
"Uhm, I don't really do breakfast," he says.
Tony continues pouring coffee for himself.
“Yes, but you should,” he replies. “Who said it, I can’t remember. But you know they say breakfast is the most important meal of the day. Well, I know at least Cap would say such a thing for sure.”
Peter remembers the videos he watched at school every now and then. He snorts quietly at the image that comes to his mind of Captain America, in his full uniform, talking about all kinds of morals and ideals for young students.
“Yeah, he did say that,” he says.
Tony hums while sipping his coffee.
“So, you’re having breakfast,” he says. What do you want? Cereals, toast, eggs, bacon. I can make you pancakes if you want. I’m pretty sure there’s some waffles left in the fridge, too.”
Peter is about to give a declining answer when another voice joins in.
“Not anymore,” says Harley in between yawns as he slowly walks in. “Clint came in here a couple of days ago and stole all of the leftovers.”
He then addresses Peter through a mumbled “Mornin’.”
Peter acknowledges it with a raise of his eyebrows. He watches Harley lazily walking over to the refrigerator and take out a milk carton.
"That birdbrain Legolas," Tony says without an apparent ill will, sipping his coffee. Harley scoffs, which Peter picks up as a sign of agreement.
“Not your best insult,” Harley retorts, walking over to the table and putting down the milk on one side of it.
“Yeah, well, I’m not too proud of it, either,” Tony answers. “You know I’m not that much of a morning person.”
Peter watches the interaction quietly as if he is merely an observer looking through a screen. He feels like he is watching a movie scene rather than being in reality with them. He wonders if he could have been a part of such a scene ― if he ever could.
“Which reminds me, you’re up early,” Tony says to Harley. He watches the teenager walk over to one of the cupboards and take out a cereal box while occasionally drinking his coffee. “Don’t pretend like you’re some good kid who has a healthy cycle all of a sudden as if you're trying to be a good model for him.”
“Shut up, old man,” Harley grunts, walking to the sink with the Corn Flakes box in his hand to get a bowl and a spoon.
Tony turns his head to Peter.
“Anyways, what do you want?” He asks.
Peter is taken aback momentarily. To him, it is almost like a character inside a movie has just broken the fourth wall to literally walk out through the screen before him.
"I, I'm fine, really," he stutters. "I'm not used to having breakfast anyway, I don't think I'll be able to handle food in the morning."
Tony is about to say something ― probably a more or less casual comeback ― when his face suddenly goes rigid.
"You're not telling me," he says with a frown, "that you didn't get food back there?"
Peter rubs the back of his neck with his hand.
"Well," he says. "It was only breakfast. We had to do chores and stuff to get food, but we did get lunch and dinner."
Tony's frown only deepens.
"No wonder why you're only skin and bones," he says. "And you didn't tell me this before, why?"
Peter shrugs his shoulders.
"It never came up…?"
Tony rolls his eyes and looks at him disapprovingly. He shakes his head and puts down his cup on the nearest countertop.
"Well I'm not having any of that," he says. "You're getting breakfast, young man. What do you want? Apparently, we're out of waffles, but we've still got some other options."
"Including breaking into Clint's floor to retrieve the waffles," Harley chimed in with his mouth full of cereal.
"As tempting as it all sounds," Peter says. He decides that it is probably a good time to back out of there. "I really don't think my stomach can handle it, anyway. I'll just have lunch later."
Tony is about to say something, but Peter beats him to it.
"I, uh, I have to get to work anyway," he says, "so I might as well just go get ready."
It is true that he has his part-time job coming up later that day. But what he doesn't tell is that it doesn't start until eleven.
"If you're working then you definitely need to eat," says Tony.
"Look, Tony, I know you want to go all Dad on me, but I really don't need it," Peter blurts out before he can even stop himself. "Yes, you are my dad, but I don't need you just nagging me about everything. I can take care of myself just fine. I always have."
Peter then turns around right away and goes back to his room. He opens the closet and pulls out one of the two pairs of jeans and a shirt with letters that are worn out to the point of being almost unreadable. He tries not to think about what he just said as he changes his clothes and goes into the bathroom to clean himself up. Frankly, he didn't mean to just outright say the things that have been weighing on his mind. He partly blames Tony for pushing him. He doesn't take much time in tidying himself up before he goes back to his room, picks up his almost-dying wallet, his old pair of cheap earphones, and phone, and heads out toward the elevator.
"I'm going to work," he says as he passes the kitchen. He knows that Tony and Harley are watching him in silence, unmoving from where they were when Peter was still in the kitchen. He doesn't even spare them a single glance as he walks straight to the elevator. "I'll probably be back around dinner."
He gets onto the elevator and pushes the close button hard. He is finally able to let out a breath he has been holding once the doors close shut before him.
He is not sure if he would ever be used to this new life.