Chapter 9
Light floods his eyelids and he sits up.
--the suit doesn't burn easily, but she's determined--
Peter puts a quivering hand to his damp forehead but doesn't try to wipe the moisture off, his arms proving to be too shaky. Clint is watching him from where he'd been opening the blinds just moments before with a worried sort of intensity, eyes understanding as much as they are concerned, forehead creased in his immediate apprehension. "Pete?" he says softly.
The archer sits on the infirmary bed and it sags to his weight. His hand twitches as if he wishes to offer contact to Peter, but he doesn't try to touch him, and for that, he's glad; he doesn't quite want the comfort of his action quite yet. With one of his best comfort-smiles, he gently tells Peter, "if you want to talk about it, you can. If not, that's okay too."
Peter shakes his head in the negative. Nevermind talking about the nightmare; he can't find it in himself to talk at all at the minute.
(Is this what selective mutism is? Is he selectively mute?)
Clint regards his expression carefully for a moment before he asks, "can I touch you, Pete?"
He considers the offer for barely a moment before he's eventually nodding, letting Clint's long arms envelope him in a comforting hug, his head burying itself into the archer's shoulder as he bites down a sob that yearns for his old life back. It's the most intimate contact that he's had ever since he's met Clint and he'd be lying if he said that he hasn't missed it.
There's always been a swelling dislike for the Aunt who kicked him out of the apartment and yet here he is, close to crying into an Avenger's shoulder at the mere memory of the day everything was ruined - the day that he realized that he was wrong to keep May out of the Spiderman equation. God - he must look so weak. This is definitely one of the most embarrassing times of his life.
If Clint thinks the same, he doesn't say so. Instead he waits until Peter breaks the hug apart and puts a hand on his quivering knee, making sure to look Peter right in the eye as he says, "if you want to talk about it, I'm always here. I can understand if you'd rather not right now, but I advise that you talk to someone if you're having trouble, Pete. Only if you want to."
And he does - all he's ever wanted is someone who can listen to his problems; someone who can be both a friend and anchor. And now that he has it, he just wants to curl up and be alone with his thoughts for a bit.
Figures.
When he doesn't say anything, Clint helpfully changes the subject. "Just so you know, Pete, we're going away for a mission today. An Avengers' mission. Nothing dramatic, but our expertise is needed for this one, so the military asked for our assistance. Don't worry - Bruce will still be here, because the Hulk isn't required for something as lowkey as this."
Part of Peter wonders whether Bruce is actually staying behind because they don't want him to be alone in the Tower and not because the Hulk isn't any use for them, but he brushes it off. "Good luck," he murmurs.
"Thanks, Petey. How do you feel about breakfast?"
.
"One waffle for you--"
"--thank you, chef--"
"--and for you--"
"--they look great, Sam--"
"--and two for Peter, because he's my favourite." The waffle slides off the plastic spatula and lands on Peter's plate with the most beautiful plop and he immediately takes to dousing them in what must be half a bottle of syrup, entirely disregarding Thor's whining of the matter - he's been craving this much sugar for Lord knows how long and no one can tell him he can't satisfy it.
Clint, who's been eyeing him oddly ever since he trudged into the communal kitchen that morning, snatches the syrup off Peter the moment he flips the cap closed. "You want waffles with that syrup?" he asks incredulously.
"Where is my waffle?" Thor demands, his voice deep and booming in his displeasure.
Panicking at the oven, the rate at which Sam stacks an overwhelming amount of waffles (when and how did he make that many so fast?) increases considerably. "I can't keep up with how much you eat anymore, big guy," he says. "You're really going to eat ten waffles? Do all Norse Gods have bottomless pits for stomachs?"
"Indeed! My brothers and sisters in Asgard eat impressive feasts for any meal!"
The God speaks often of his home, Peter concludes when he sees the entire room roll their eyes in a variety of manners. He thinks that it's sort of nice that he's so incredibly fond of Asgard and, even though he can most likely return to his homeland at any time he wishes, he's perfectly content to remain in the Tower with his teammates. It's hard to stay away from home.
"May? May, please, I'm sorry. Let me in."
"Give me time, Peter. Just-- just a bit."
Peter shudders. Don't think about her. You promised yourself you wouldn't.
He takes to watching Sam place the wobbling tower of waffles in front of Thor, who wriggles in his seat like a gleeful slug at the mere sight of his breakfast - ten sizeable waffles, stacked and drowned in melted butter. The God hardly hesitates before he's drizzling syrup atop his glorious monstrosity of a meal.
Peter feels he can eat twice as much as that if he really wants to - his enhanced metabolism is starting to catch up to him now that his meals are growing more consistent, making itself known in the form of stabbing hunger that curdles in his stomach like an upset volcano. He can't eat as much as he craves, however, what with the Avengers remaining unaware of his abilities.
--just tell them you're Spiderman, it would be so much better for you--
--you're not Spiderman, not anymore--
Besides, Bruce often reminds him not to eat too fast or too much at once over fear of overwhelming his stomach - and, crazy metabolism or not, he supposes that he's still a little sensitive and shrunken from the sudden change in his diet's consistency.
The scene he regards is about as domestic as the Avengers can get - everyone crowded around one island counter; digging into steaming waffles; chattering and laughing and enjoying Peter doesn't listen to what they're saying - all he can think about is how normal it seems and how normal he feels to be apart of it. It's been a while since he felt as if he fit in as he does now.
--you don't live here, don't forget that--
Even Tony is here - Clint mentions that the billionaire fails to show up for meals - and he looks awake, his hair flattened under his hoodie, chewing at his waffle as he laughs at whatever Bruce is saying. Watching the man who has unknowingly shaped him up to the person he is today eating breakfast and cackling over stupid science jokes is... strangely anchoring.
He used to get that giddy feeling around the Avengers that anyone gets in the presence of a celebrity, but he finds that it's gone; in its place a nonchalant sense of friendship, as if they were simply just people and not unreachable celebrities as he's always known them as. The 'holy shit, they're real and in front of me' mindset he'd adopted previously is gone along with his discomfort he'd felt in the presence of the Avengers.
Needless to say, he's starting to grow a lot more comfortable in the Avengers' Tower.
... and he doesn't like it.
Growing comfortable in the Avengers' Tower means that leaving will be even harder. Growing comfortable means that, when his welcome eventually runs out, he'll have to adjust to living on the streets all over again. Growing comfortable means that he might just forget about the good memories Aunt May gave him, even if she'd ended their relationships with bad ones.
--watching Say Yes To The Dress complaining about the prices of the wedding dresses with her over dinner--
God, he doesn't want to leave.
He'd met Captain America - 'call me Steve, kid. Steve Rogers' - one rainy afternoon when they'd happened to be in the communal kitchen at the same time, Peter in search of water and Steve in search of a sandwich. That calculating, careful expression that the Captain had looked upon him with when he'd come strolling into the kitchen remains burned into his mind.
Burned in his mind, because he could tell from the way that Steve had regarded him that damp afternoon that he wasn't sure of him. He was suspicious of him and his intentions and to say that it didn't make Peter feel that tiny bit intimidated by the supersoldier would be a straight-up lie.
--he doesn't want you to stay--
He doesn't question it, nor does he mention it to Sam or Clint or Bruce or anyone. After all, Steve has an unspoken right to be suspicious of Peter - he’s in his house.
Despite that, the man had been proven to be friendly enough. His voice when he'd introduced himself had held nothing similar to the look in his eyes, but kindness and understanding instead. Even when he's just speaking, he sounds like he's either scolding you or giving you a dramatic superhero speech - Peter happily dwells in the realism of it all.
Steve is next to Bruce, digging into his plate with quiet satisfaction. There's no syrup on his waffles, just melted butter, and Peter wonders whether he's on a diet (not that he needs it) or if he's just a 'plain waffle' kind of guy.
"These are literally orgasmic," Tony moans, having practically inhaled two syrup-drowned waffles like a vacuum cleaner.
"Please don't mention orgasms while I'm trying to eat," Sam says, eyeing Tony from where he's taken his seat across from Peter and finally digging into a waffle of his own. He only has one - the fact that it's much bigger than everyone else's and positively drenched in warm, melted butter and practically a whole bottle of syrup doesn’t escape Peter’s notice.
"Don't mention orgasms at all," Steve continues incredulously. He's on his third waffle already - superhuman metabolism, Peter concludes.
Natasha has considerably a lot quieter ever since Peter sleepily shuffled into the kitchen that morning, and her voice sounds tired when she finally speaks up. "There is literally a child in the room and you're talking about orgasms?"
--I'm not a child--
"No, Tony is talking about orgasms," Clint answers.
The billionaire's fist hits the table. "And so are you!"
Wisely choosing to keep quiet regarding the matter at hand, Bruce's face grows considerably more exhausted as the topic continues. He leans over to Peter and whispers, "I'm going to apologize on their behalf. It's like this a lot."
Peter wants to tell the doctor that no, he's having fun; that listening to the Avengers argue about orgasms over plates of waffles makes him feel more happy and welcome and comfortable than he has felt ever since that first night he’d slept on the cold streets of New York city, but he can’t quite find his voice around so many people. Instead he just shakes his head and smiles in an attempt to convey it without using his words.
Bruce smiles back, eyes fond as ever as they meet Peter’s. “You’re enjoying yourself, then?”
He nods bashfully. In a very Clint-like manner, Bruce ruffles his hair.
--just like Aunt May used to do when he made her smile, because it was hard for her to feel happy after Ben’s death and she loved how hard he tried--
He squeezes his eyes shut and looks away, trying to swallow the memory as it re-surfaces. If Bruce notices, he doesn’t comment on it.
It's perhaps ten minutes later when everyone’s plates are empty, positively satisfied by their teammate’s delicious cooking. Peter’s metabolism is screaming for more substance - like a pot bubbling over, curdling and stabbing and yearning - but he’s smart enough to know not to overwhelm his stomach just yet.
Clint, Thor and Natasha all take to washing the dishes --just like he used to do for Aunt May, because she used to give him fond smiles and friendly kisses on the forehead when he offered to relieve her of the chores-- and suddenly the kitchen is all soap bubbles and splashing water; all giggles as they sprayed each other and all screams when they touch the damp leftovers floating in the sink.
(It's stupidly domestic.)
Thor, Sam and Steve leave the kitchen in favour of heading to their private floors respectively, for reasons they leave unsaid. Bruce tells Peter that he needs him in the infirmary later, just so he can check up on the bruises and how well their healing is going (they're completely healed, Peter thinks), before he too leaves in order to take a shower and shave.
It's another two minutes before Tony springs from his seat, and says much too cheerfully, "I'm off to my lab. Want to come, Pete?"