denial
Peter’s a genius. Peter is at MIT, and...and... He's is dead, and nothing is right in the world.
Nothing.
He doesn't really know what to do, but he hates being the person he is. The nerdy, loser, depressed Peter Parker. So, he becomes someone different. He goes to parties and pretends he feels the same as every other frat bro there, wasted on cheap beer and pulled up to the ceiling lights as they get higher and higher, hearts pounding on the bass that shakes the walls of their tiny world.
But really, he’s not, he can't get drunk, his soul doesn't shiver with the beat because he's half sure he doesn't have one anymore. Not since the bite.
Peter wonders what it really did to him, sure, it helped him lose his glasses and gave him abs, but what it really do to him? It took his whole, human DNA and twisted it, carved it into something different and against the force of nature. Mutated it into something out of Chernobyl or a bad 70’s sci-fi movie.
Ever since the final battle, he hasn't put on the suit. He tried, but it reminded him too much of — — —. Of the workshop. The smell of WD-40 and picking machine grease off pizza.
--
If he pretends that — — — isn’t dead, that — — — never existed, then he’s fine, isn't he? It’s all good. He’s hot no reason to be sad, so he isn't. If his brain forgets the name as soon as anyone says it, he forgets he ever knew it at all, trght?
--
“Rhodey,” he says, blinks. Rhodey smiles, and doesn't say anything about the weed that he can so clearly smell. “Come in.”
“Sorry for the low notice, kid,” he apologises, and squeezes into his tiny dorm. A man like Rhodey feels too big for it, really. Like he should be bursting out of the walls any minute. “Just passin’ through. Wanted to see you.”
“Uhuh,” Peter says, and shuts the door behind him. He opens the window and sits on the bed, stares at Rhodey a minute. He's probably dissociating. He should probably say something.
Rhodey chuckles, sits himself down on the chair at the desk, “this brings me right back, you know I went to MIT too, right?”
Peter just nods. He nearly opens her mouth to say something more, like that's where you and ——— meet. But, he's not that stupid.
“Yeah. He, uh, he reminded me of you, when he was still here.” Peter winces. Rhodey sighs. “Sorry, kid. I uh, I know you don't like to talk about it.”
“Yeah,” Peter mumbles, “I don't like to talk about it.”
“But, um, I hear you’re doing well, so that's good—”
“Pepper sent you,” Peter cuts him off. She doesn't even care, for once, not even at the look on Rhodey’s face.
‘What?”
“You weren't passing through, Pepper sent you,” he shrugs. “She worries about me.”
“Yeah, of course she does, kid. — — — was your...mentor. He meant a lot to you.”
Peter almost laughs. “He wasn't my mentor.”
Rhodey raises his eyebrows, as if what he's about to say is the most important thing he will ever here. “Yeah, he was. He loved you, kid, just as much as Morgan.”
“Then why did he leave?” Peter says, and he nearly cries. The pot is wearing off, it seems.
“— — — didn't leave, he died. And he saved the fucking world. That's the most --- he could do. And he did it."
Peter just mumbles something incoherent.
“You were...you are both so, so, fucking smart. So fucking smart. I couldn’t believe it, most days, the things — — — would dream up. Incredible. You're both funny, and he was eager, like you, and just wanted some fucking friends. Human connection.”
“I have friends,” Peter reptiles numbly, on autopilot.
Rhodey snorts. “Where?” There’s silence, the bed creaks, Rhodey leans forward “you grieve the same too, Peter. Tony shut people out. You need to let them back in.”
Peter doesn't answer, just turns his head so he doesn't have to look
“Right, Rhodey says. “I’ll go, then.”
“Yeah,” Peter says. “Bye.”
He doesn't get up to show him out, just listens to him open the door and slip out into the corridor. The walls shrink back in. Peter can breathe. He doesn't really want to.