It's the Little Things, Dude.

Jesus Take the Wheel (or Peter learns to drive. Sort of)

Ned had bought May a selfie-stick for her birthday last year. Peter had completely forgotten about it until now. He had just fastened his seatbelt and was about to start the car when May’s phone, attached to the end of the forgotten selfie-stick made its way to the front seat.

“Alright, everybody lean in and smile,” May ordered. She was in the backseat sitting next to an annoyed looking Happy.

“Happy, if you don’t smile, I’m gonna strangle you with your tie,” she threatened as she propped the end of the selfie-stick on the dash and tried to fix her hair.

Happy smiled, Tony looked amused, and Peter wanted to die. Sort of, he was secretly a little too excited for death by mortification. Still, his ears burned red and May’s new camera phone highlighted that little detail just fine.

They were all squished into Tony’s newest Audi. May adjusted the camera, counted down from three, and took what promised to be the first of many pictures.

“May, this isn’t necessary.”

“When has that ever stopped me?” she asked, stuffing the selfie-stick back into her purse. “If you can take pictures to document Star Wars marathons and Ned eating an entire pizza in seven minutes, then I can take one to document you learning how to drive.”

Peter already knew how to drive. He said as much. May just caught his eye in the rearview mirror and arched a challenging eyebrow. Peter rolled his eyes and said, “I’ve gotten better.”

“Oh, I know,” she said. She was doing that thing she did where she smiled all wide-eyed and nodded supportively. It was a habit she’d picked up after reading one too many parenting books. Peter appreciated the effort, but he’d learned she only did it when she was trying to be supportive despite her many, many doubts. “You’re a great driver, you just…need a bit more practice.”

Peter felt his ears burn again and was about to start the car when Tony turned to face May in the back seat and asked, “If he’s so good at driving, why’d you have to down two glasses of wine before you’d get in the car?”

May glared at Tony before turning to Peter. “Only one glass was because of you, sweetie,” she said, smiling apologetically before she narrowed her eyes and tilted her head towards the passenger seat. “The other was because of Tony.”

“Need I remind you that I am doing this out of the goodness of my heart?” Tony said, turning back around and reaching for his seatbelt. “I could have easily said no and left you and Happy to train the munchkin.”

“I still don’t understand why I have to be here,” Happy groaned. “Or why I have to sit in the back.”

Tony pushed his glasses up on top of his head and turned back to look at Happy. “Because it’s a family moment and I called shotgun.”

There was a quiet schlick sound followed by a blinding flash as May took another picture. She grinned, tongue tucked between her teeth as she studied her handiwork. “Oh, I’m posting that one,” she declared, uncaring that both Tony and Happy were frowning at her.

May liked to document everything with photographs. Her Facebook page was full of pictures proving just that. And she had no limit. Everything was on the table. It was something Peter had come to terms with long ago. Or so he’d thought. After all, everyone in May’s circle of friends already knew about his most embarrassing moments (moments May referred to as momentous life occasions), so who cared if they saw pictures of a baby-faced Peter covered in spaghettios as he learned to feed himself or a grinning naïve Peter with a pull-up around his ankles as he used the big boy potty for the first time?

“Oh, Natasha liked the picture,” May said with grin from the back seat. “She say’s good luck.”

Of course, that was back before May befriended the Avengers. Peter internally groaned as he realized that the Black Widow and Captain America had access to May’s photo gallery.

Tony tapped his fingers on his knee, frowned, and asked, “There a reason we haven’t left yet?”

Peter sighed and stared straight ahead. “I’m trying to decide if I actually want to learn to drive or if I just want to floor it and drive us straight into that wall.”

Happy made a snorting sound as May swiped through a few more pictures on her phone. Tony actually looked almost sympathetic.

“Why don’t we try the first one?” Tony asked, pulling on his sun glasses and tightening his seatbelt. “Let’s see how that goes before we consider vehicular manslaughter.”

Peter rolled his eyes and smirked. He started the car, tried to ignore the sound of May narrating the story behind whatever picture she was currently showing Happy, and pulled out of the parking garage.

I Moustache You a Question (or Peter finally learns to shave)

“Are you sure it doesn’t matter?” Peter asked, staring at the purple can and the curvy letters promising a fresh lavender sent and touchably soft skin.

“Shaving cream’s shaving cream,” May said with a shrug. “If I could get away with using that stuff Ben used on his face on my legs, then you can use this on your face.”

They were crammed in the bathroom. May was sitting on the counter, Peter’s laptop propped in her lap as she scrolled through YouTube tutorials. Peter stood in front of the sink, shirt off as he opened up the new razor May had bought him the day before.

Too bad she’d forgotten the shaving cream.

“Here’s one,” May declared. She swung the computer around and pressed play. An older guy with thick glasses and a wheezy voice began explaining the proper way to open the pores, how to apply shaving cream and—

May swung the computer back around with a frown. “Okay, he sounds like a creep.”

Peter turned the water on and waited for it to get warm. “Doubt you’ll find anyone who posts videos online teaching strangers how to shave that isn’t a little creepy.”

 “Well let’s see if we can find someone a little lower on the creepy scale.” She wrinkled her nose in disgust, but kept scrolling. “Someone a little less put the lotion in the basket and a little more I collect cat figurines.”

Peter snorted, but May had found another video. She turned the computer and showed Peter an image of man in his twenties wearing a football jersey and pointing at his stubbly chin. There was a transparent triangle covering his face, waiting for May to hit ‘play’.

“He doesn’t look like he collects cat figurines,” Peter observed.

May shrugged and turned the computer back towards her. “No, but he does look like he has a questionable search history.”

“You can’t really judge people on their search histories,” Peter said, thinking about the weird murder stuff or conspiracy theories MJ was prone to looking up or the time Ned asked Siri how much blood a guy could lose before he died. That last one might have been Peter’s fault, but still, search histories weren’t all black and white.

May tilted her head, smirking as her hand hovered over the computer’s track pad. “So I can look at your search history?”

Then again…

“Or you could just press play,” Peter said, shrugging and trying not to blush. Judging on the way May’s smirk grew, he failed.

But she did press play.

The guy sounded exactly like Peter had expected, all bravado and attitude, but he walked his viewers through the steps needed to get the perfect at-home shave, which was exactly what Peter needed.

He filled the sink with water, covered his hand with lavender scented shaving cream, and began smearing it all over his jaw.

When he went to rinse his hand, May gave a sharp whistle. Peter looked up and—

Schlick.

“Oh, that’s a good one,” she said, turning the phone around so Peter could see his wide-eyed look of surprise.

He looked ridiculous.

“Is there any chance I can talk you out of posting that?”

Her face fell into a worried frown. “What’s wrong with it?”

Peter just blinked. “You have to ask?”

“You look adorable,” she said, but gave him a loving and understanding smile. “But if it bothers you so much I won’t post it.”

She turned to walk away, leaving Peter to grin and call out through the open door, “Thank you, May!”

Peter turned back to the mirror, tried to remember what the dudebro on YouTube had said about going with the grain, and set about shaving his face for the very first time.

 And May kept her word, she didn’t post the picture of Peter anywhere on social media.

But that was only because she had sent it to Tony.

Peter learned this three days later when a smirking Tony showed Peter his new contact photo in Tony’s phone.

He slammed his head against the table top and murmured a sullen and mortified, “I hate you.”

Tony made a noise that hinted at amusement and ruffled Peter’s hair. “Keep telling yourself that, kid.”

Hakuna Some Vodka (It means get wasted)

In all honestly, Peter thought he couldn’t get drunk. That was his only defense. Or, at least it was the only one he could think of, because he was definitely drunk. Buzzed? Buzzed.

Either way, MJ was giving him a look, the kind that was usually followed by one insult or another.

“You’re an idiot.”

Boom.

Peter just grinned, folded his arms and laid them and his head on the counter. They were at a party, one that neither Peter nor MJ (or so she said) had wanted to go to. But Ned had begged, citing the need for a wing man so there Peter was.

Except Ned had given in to peer pressure and the need to impress whatever her name was and taken the little plastic cup full of a reddish something that tasted like rancid lemonade.

And Ned, being the good friend that he was, handed one to Peter as well.

And since Peter couldn’t get drunk (in theory), what was the harm?

That had been the last sober thought Peter had before he lost count of plastic cups and found himself kissing the marble countertop in some stranger’s kitchen.

“So, super metabolism only goes so far,” MJ mused aloud as she raided the pantry and slammed half a loaf of wheat bread next to Peter’s head.

Peter looked up blearily and frowned. “What are you doing?”

“You need carbs,” she informed him. She frowned and looked out towards the crowded hallway and the sea of drunken teenagers. “So does Ned, I’m betting.”

She made another face, opened a jar of crunchy peanut butter, and proceeded to make a sandwich.

“I don’t like crunchy,” Peter muttered.

MJ didn’t care. She told him so. “Just pretend they’re sprinkles or something,” she said, plopping the sandwich down in front of him, spreading crumbs all over the previously clean countertop.

Peter ate the sandwich while MJ wandered into the living room to look for Ned. When she returned, it was to find Peter standing in front of an open fridge chugging milk straight from the carton.

“What the fuck?” she hissed under her breath as she grabbed the milk and put it back in the fridge.

Peter frowned. “My mouth was dry.”

“Then get a glass, dumbass.”

“I don’t know where they are.”

MJ glared and then gestured grandly at the many red, plastic cups scattered along the counter and sink in various states of use. There were even a few on the floor. Peter just blinked. Then he noticed Ned standing a few paces behind MJ, staring at them with a look of confusion.

“You need carbs,” Peter announced, pointing to the nasty peanut butter on the counter. “But they only have crunchy.”

“Ignore him,” MJ said to Ned as she reached into Peter’s pocket and pulled out his phone.

“Who are you calling?” he asked, trying to lean forward to look.

MJ simply pushed him back and continued to slide her thumb across the screen. “I’m not calling anyone,” she said. “I’m ordering us an Uber.” She looked up and arched an eyebrow. “Unless you want me to call May and have her pick us up?”

Peter shook his head, frowned at the way it made the room move, and simply said. “No. Uber.”

“No to the Uber?”

“No to May. Do the Uber.”

MJ gave a knowing nod and proceeded to order the car. Ned finally spoke up. “Is he drunk?”

“M’not drunk,” Peter said. He frowned again when he heard the slur. Then he gave a panicked look of alarm to MJ.

MJ just rolled her eyes and put his phone back in his pocket. “What did you think would happen?”

“I thought he couldn’t get drunk,” Ned said. Peter nodded, then pointed at Ned, agreeing.

“Well, now we know,” she said, grabbing Peter by the arm and leading him out of the kitchen.

“What about Ned’s sandwich?” Peter asked, tripping on an abandoned cup.

“Ned doesn’t need a sandwich,” MJ explained. “Because Ned isn’t a dumbass.”

Peter turned to look at Ned, who was doing his best to keep up with them as they wandered through the crowd. He was wearing his newest hat and had something that looked like pizza sauce smeared on the front of his shirt, but he didn’t look any different then he usually did.

“You’re not drunk.” It wasn’t a question, more of a realization actually. Peter glared at Ned, like he had betrayed him somehow. After all, it had been Ned that made Peter come to the stupid party. It had been Ned that had given Peter the drink in the first place.

“And it was you who drank it,” MJ pointed out. “And you who didn’t stop drinking.”

Peter frowned again, but they’d made it outside and the air was so much cooler here, and yeah, he was gonna sit down.

He probably should have let MJ in on that plan, because she was still holding onto his arm as he reached the front steps and promptly dropped, nearly taking her down with him.

He took a deep breath and leaned his head against the nearest railing.

“You good, man?” Ned asked.

Peter closed his eyes, but nodded. “Good.”

So Peter’s metabolism had a limit. Good to know.

Would have been better to know three hours ago.

MJ gave Peter a quick kick to his side and an order not to fall asleep. Peter opened his eyes, but kept his head leaning against the railing.

It took exactly fourteen minutes for Nathan to arrive in his blue Honda. “One of you Peter Parker?”

And then they were on their way, first to Ned’s because his mom would kill him if he missed curfew, and then to Peter’s because Peter was an idiot who couldn’t be left alone, or that’s what MJ told Nathan. Nathan didn’t seem to care either way.

“Just as long as he doesn’t blow chunks in my backseat.”

Peter didn’t.

They drove through Queens, Nathan doing a pretty good job at missing the worst of the potholes and earning that five star review, and then they were home.

Or Peter was home. MJ was just visiting. Chaperoning?

“Babysitting,” she said with a smirk, propping Peter up against the wall of the elevator as she pressed the button for the seventh floor.

Peter stuck his tongue out at her and then quickly tucked it back in when the elevator started to move and he felt dizzy. MJ rolled her eyes, but quickly grabbed Peter’s arm and pulled it over her shoulder, steadying him.

So he could get drunk, but maybe the super metabolism thing was still useful, maybe it was just waiting for the right moment to work. Maybe the worst of it would wear off before May made it home. Maybe he’d be able to skip over the hangover and go straight back to normal?

And maybe Peter was just a naïve idiot with the worst luck ever.

MJ used Peter’s key to unlock the door and pushed it open. They’d just stumbled into the kitchen when the living room light came on, and a sleep rumpled May stood before them, hair mussed, arms crossed, and eyes narrowed.

“I take it the party was fun?” she asked, her tone suggesting that Peter should stay quiet and let MJ do the talking.

“He’s wasted.”

Or maybe not.

“To be fair,” Peter began, pushing himself off of MJ and trying to stand as straight and sober as possible, “I didn’t know I could get drunk, so I shouldn’t be judged.”

“Oh baby,” May said pityingly, taking a step forward and placing her hands on either side of Peter’s flushed face. “I am judging you so hard.” She then kissed his forehead and turned to MJ.

“Do you need a ride home?”

“I was kinda hoping I could just crash here?”

May narrowed her eyes and tilted her head. “You drunk?”

“Not even a little,” MJ said. “I’m not an idiot.”

Peter felt like he’d been insulted somewhere in there, but before he could comment on it, May gave a shrug and turned back towards her room. “Different bunks and the door stays open,” she called over her shoulder. “And if he pukes, leave it for him to clean up in the morning.”

MJ snorted and began making her way towards Peter’s bedroom. Peter figured he should follow.

MJ grabbed one of Peter’s t-shirts out of his closet, the one with a faded NASA logo on the front, and said, “I get the top bunk” before leaving for the bathroom.

Peter just stood there, frowning.

But then MJ came back and Peter frowned some more because her jeans were folded in her arms and she had really long legs, and he could totally she her underwear peeking out from beneath the hem of his shirt and—

“Are you gonna puke?” MJ asked, returning Peter’s frown.

Was he? “No.”

“Then get in bed,” she said, tossing her clothes onto Peter’s desk and switching off the light before she climbed onto the top bunk.

Peter did his best not to watch and proceeded to pull his shirt up over his head and kick off his shoes. By the time he’d climbed out of his jeans, MJ was already tucked in.

Peter crawled into bed and was asleep almost immediately.

He didn’t stay that way though. He woke up the next day to the sound of May and MJ talking in the kitchen.

He was dying. Or he was already dead and hell smelt like burning bacon and pancakes.

He groaned and buried his face in his pillow.

It did not help. He pushed himself up into a sitting position and regretted it immediately. His head was pounding in tempo with his heartbeat and his tongue was glued to the roof of his mouth. He gave another unhappy groan and tried to take a deep breath.

He remembered the cooking bacon way too late. He was gonna be sick.

Yep, that was happening.

He climbed to his feet and blearily made his way out into the living room. MJ and May stopped talking. But that didn’t mean they were quiet.

MJ gave a low whistle, May snorted, and, oh god, Peter remembered he was in underwear. He didn’t care.

“Shhhh,” he whispered, one eye closed as the other squinted at the steadily approaching bathroom door.

“Oh boy,” May said with a smile, sounding not nearly sympathetic enough.

Didn’t matter. Peter dropped to his knees, stuck his head into the toilet, and puked up crunchy peanut butter and vodka.

He groaned again.

Schlick

Peter closed his eyes, gave one more spit into the basin, and turned a squinty-eyed frown towards his aunt.

She was smiling, phone raised, and—

Schlick

Her smile grew as she showed the phone to MJ who said, “Oh, that’s a good one.”

May agreed. She looked to Peter, arched a judging and challenging eyebrow, and said, “I’m posting that one. I don’t care what you say.”

And she did.

On the plus side, Tony finally changed Peter’s contact photo in his phone…