Author's Note: *comes to a screeching halt, months late for May's not-so-great boyfriend trope* Here I am. With whump and angst for all. I'll admit this ended up being more hurt than comfort, but this last month has been awful, so I needed someone to take it out on. Sorry, Pete.

I hope you enjoy! =) Thanks for reading!

Summary: Coming back from the dead wasn't nearly as awesome as TV made it out to be. Peter's learning this on the go. And it really doesn't help that May's new husband absolutely hates him. And that May is pretty ignorant of that and him now. But it's all fine. Really.

Warnings: Child abuse, child neglect, suicidal thoughts, depressive thoughts, anxiety, PTSD, some injury, and hurt without comfort. This story is kind of heavy, so just take care of yourselves, okay? I want everyone to be safe. :) No slash, no smut, no non-con, no incest. Language is all K.

Pairings: Pepper/Tony, May/Matt

/**WARNING: I USUALLY PORTRAY MAY IN A GOOD LIGHT. THIS IS NOT THE CASE.\\

For your information, this story is cross-posted on Archive Of Our Own under the pen name of "Galaxy Threads".

Just a personal note, if you could refrain from using cussing/strong language if you comment (no offense to how you speak! Promise! =) It just makes me uncomfortable) I would greatly appreciate that. ;)

***Final Note: This deals with some heavy topics. I really want everyone to be as safe as possible. And if you are experiencing a situation similar to Peter's, I'm sorry. Please, to whatever end it comes to, take care of yourself. You are worth it. You are worth everything.

"Family isn't always blood. It's the people in your life who want you in theirs; the ones who accept you for who you are. The ones who would do anything to see you smile and love you no matter what. "

-Unknown

Vertigo

He can hear it in his head. A small voice whirring and whirring.

Got vertigo. Got vertigo. Got vertigo.

Someone help me! I can't tell what way is up!

000o000

Tony barely survives the Snap and Peter strongly suspects he wouldn't have if Thor's brother hadn't come bursting into the scene with a dramatic flare of magic and worked some sort of mumbo gumbo. Tony is alive and that's really all that matters to him. His left arm is permanently paralyzed; a scar stretches from the tip of his middle finger to well beyond his shoulder, tipping at the edge of his neck, but he's alive.

That's all Peter really can care about. He's too exhausted for anything else.

Peter's dead-beat tired from the battle on Titan, the one following, and the clean up, so when the plane arrives to pick up the Avengers and take them to the Tower, he finds the nearest unoccupied bench and collapses there, not intending to move for the better part of ten hours. The flight takes less than twenty minutes, so those plans, as glorious as they were, are promptly thrown out the window.

He sits in the waiting room with all the others, but refuses to get up and fidget like Bruce and Pepper are. He's anxious, but too embarrassed to let it show so visually. Instead, he remains seated and prays the doctor will have good news.

He does. He reveals about Tony's arm and his health. He says he has hope for Tony's future. Says he'll live.

Peter's shuffled from the room shortly afterwards by Pepper, placed in a guest bedroom, and told to sleep. When he wakes up, he remembers that he should call May and explain to her why he was gone for the last two days—they agreed he'd call or text her every three hours on patrol, and the fact that he's been missing for a few days likely means he'll be grounded—but stops.

He remembers Dr. Strange grabbing him up off the hard rock of Titan as Peter frantically looked for Tony in confusion and the sorcerer spouting off something about "it's been five years, come on, Tony needs us" and then—

The battle.

Tony's near death.

Sleeping.

He hadn't really realized what Dr. Strange had said until he opens his cracked phone and sees as the processor struggles for a moment with the date of May 23rd, 2018 before it blinks out and replaces itself with July 17th, 2023.

His breath stutters in his chest, and Peter drops the phone.

He was dead for five years.

It's 2023.

He needs to call May.

000o000

He doesn't see her for two weeks. They call, she cries, he cries, but he doesn't see her. She says that work keeps getting in the way, and that with how bad traffic is she doesn't know if she can get from Queens to Manhattan. Roads have been closed. Schools closed. Businesses. The only thing that's still running is probably Congress and a few hearty Walmarts, but that's because they sleep for no one.

Tony wakes up and he and Peter talk for a few minutes, but Tony spends so much time in and out of consciousness that it doesn't really feel like he's talking to his mentor as he is Tony's subconscious. He tries to be okay with that, but he doesn't know most of the people here and Pepper is so busy that it…

He wants the familiarity after having the rug ripped out from under his feet and told to keep standing because that's what he does.

Peter clings to Happy. He knows that the man must be annoyed beyond belief with Peter, but thankfully doesn't say anything outright nasty. He complains about it at every possible moment "I have a Spider stalker, and it's not even the dangerous one", but he doesn't say-say anything. He learns a lot more about how Stark Industries works from behind the scenes than he really wanted to know during this.

That's fine.

It's cool, honestly. Tony has offered him an internship here, a real one, and it's interesting to see what he might work on.

The problem with this is that Peter doesn't leave the Tower. He doesn't see how much New York has changed. He doesn't want to face it. The thought of going out there and knowing that he missed five years is enough to make him sick. (He wonders, vaguely, how awful it must have been for Captain America to stand up and realize that he'd missed seventy. Peter had never thought about it like this before. He'd...it had just...been. Captain America didn't seem to have any complaints.

He must have been a good liar, or Peter's a lot weaker than he is.

He doesn't want to see Queens.

Can hardly stomach the thought of talking with Ned and MJ because Ned's dad died during the five years and he wants to help, but doesn't know how. MJ is so...untouchable. He knows that she's struggling. Grieving. But all of them are pretending nothing happened, and that's going to come crashing at their feet soon.)

But May finally manages to get access to a car and the moment that the main roads are re-opened, she calls to tell him she's on her way to pick him up and take him home. He's both relieved and horrified. He wants to stay with Tony. Watch him recover and help, but he can't just...he can't say no to May either. He hasn't seen her in half a decade, and it seems…

It just isn't right.

What he wants is rarely taken into consideration. He's used to that.

One moment he's stuffing items into his admittedly lightly packed backpack, the next he's standing in the base of Avengers Tower beside Happy and Pepper, fidgeting with the hem of his sleeves. He didn't have any spare clothing with him, but Pepper managed to pull some out of somewhere. They're too big. He thinks that the shirts are some of Tony's old ones and the thought is both weird and comforting.

"Stop fidgeting." Happy tells him when Peter rocks his weight front to back again. "You're making me nervous."

Peter tries to stop, but can't, and shakes his head, continuing. "Sorry."

Happy makes a noise in the back of his throat, but Pepper gives him a stern look. "He hasn't seen her in five years, give the kid a break."

The kid. They usually only call him "the kid", like he's some sort of project or something. It bothers him, even though he knows it's a term of endearment. He's sixteen. Almost seventeen. He doesn't need them to shove how inexperienced they think he is down his throat.

"For him it's been, like, what? Two weeks?" Happy counters.

Peter rubs his thumb over his knuckle and breathes out steadily. Okay, but that's the thing: Peter gets that it hasn't even been a proper month yet since he last saw his aunt. He gets that. But this isn't May that he's meeting. It's five years post his death May. Five years later May. Five years is a long time for someone to have changed. He feels terrible about dying, even though it wasn't really his choice. Who took care of May? Who made sure that she ate when she forgot or took the time off that she needed?

And for May? She hasn't seen him since the Snap. She likely didn't even know what happened to him until Tony explained. He was in space. He was…

Dead.

"That doesn't make it any better." Peter mumbles. "She's…" he trails, unsure where to go with that statement, but pretty sure he's made his point all the same. Sort of. Maybe not. Probably not.

"Oh, I think I see them." Pepper says and reaches out a hand to grip his shoulder in anticipation. Peter squints out through the window, looking, and sees May a moment later. She's walking side by side with a tall blond man, and Peter's eyebrows raise slightly. May looks a little older than he remembers, a few gray hairs by her forehead that he doesn't recall seeing before. She looks tired. But happy. Happier than Peter ever remembers her being since Ben's death.

The tall man opens the door for his aunt before slipping in after her. They obviously came together. Peter briefly wonders if they're co-workers and May asked for a ride, but discards it almost promptly. May said that she was taking her car to the Tower. She wouldn't have gotten a ride from another co-worker unless it broke down, but she would have called and let him know about the delay.

"Peter!" May says and her face alights with a wide, beaming smile. She crosses the distance between the two of them and wraps him into a tight hug. He returns the pressure, breathing in her scent readily. But she doesn't smell the same. The realization throws him, almost enough to make him release her. "Oh, my gosh. I thought that you were...that I'd…" May continues, gripping him harder.

The tightness is reassuring. Like she can keep all his frazzled, cracking pieces from bursting apart.

"May." Peter says her name readily, closing his eyes and enjoying this. His voice is muffled against her shirt. May pulls away too quickly, as expected, hands gripping his shoulders.

"I'd forgotten how tall you are." She says, eyes tight.

His smile falters and suddenly the words come bubbling out. "I'm so sorry about the whole alien-to-space thing. I swear that I didn't mean to go running off and that it—" May clamps a hand over his mouth and glances at the blond man for a second, just a second, but Peter manages to pick up on her hidden meaning without another word spoken.

That man doesn't know that Peter is Spider-Man.

"It's okay, stop talking. I know you didn't mean to get dusted." His aunt says, recovering herself quickly. Peter tears his gaze away from the man and returns it to May, nodding. After a few more traded sentences and a few thousand apologies on both their parts, May asks about Morgan and then turns to the blond and says, "We should get going. We don't know how bad the roads will be."

The man nods, and in a brighter voice than Peter thought he would have says, "Yeah. That'd be for the best. We want to get home before midnight."

Home.

As in...all of them?

"Um. I." Peter stops, and looks at the man for a second. "I'm sorry. I don't...May didn't tell me your name. Who…"

May's eyes bulge almost comically and she turns to him. "I didn't tell you that I re-married?"

Peter's stomach drops to his feet. But Ben—"You—" he starts to repeat, but stops, unable to get the words out. A strangled noise escapes his throat.

May slaps her forehead. "Oh, gosh. This is so like me. I'm so sorry Peter. Yes." She turns to the man. Her husband. "That would explain why you didn't say anything. Sorry. Sorry. Peter this is Matt Argon."

Matt holds out a hand, smiling slightly. "I'm sorry. This was probably awkward. I hadn't realized my wife—" Peter flinches at the term. Ben. She replaced. She. He. It. They. "—didn't say anything, Peter."

Peter nods. He takes the hand, nearly snapping his hand back just as quickly.

His spider sense whirrs in the back of his head in warning, and Peter thinks he might be sick. There's nothing outright wrong with Matt, and that's what makes this whole thing worse. Peter wants there to be some sort of blaring sign, a written message across his forehead, maybe, to indicate why he's so tense. His whole hand is burning where Matt's skin is making contact, sending a wave of nerves to splash up his arm, leaving his muscle twitchy. He thinks it's going to start spasming, and Peter pulls his hand away as quickly as he can.

Matt's is at least a foot taller than Peter himself, towering over May without a problem. He's built like an athlete with broad shoulders and muscles rippling at every available corner of skin. He has a gentle face, but there's something hard about him.

It's his eyes.

His eyes that don't hold his smile. They're burning into him like Matt wishes he could simply vaporize Peter on the spot. It leaves him drastically uncomfortable, but he glances at May, sees her relaxed, easy expression, and decides that he'll trust her on this.

It's mistake number one.

One he wishes he could have rectified a lot sooner.

Peter releases Matt's hand, and his entire body relaxes with relief. After a few more words traded between the adults and Happy makes Peter swear practically on his firstborn child to text him when he gets home, he follows after May and Matt to the car.

The two hold hands the whole way there, and Peter gets the strangest impression he's intruding on something private. This is what follows him well into the next few months. He's an outsider looking in. There is no room for him here.

000o000

The next few months are...Peter doesn't want to say bad, but he can't say good with truthfulness either. They're...they're that type. The ones that make you sick in the moment and when you look back you wonder how did I ever get through that alive? But they're not bad. They're not. Just hard.

And...and difficult.

And different.

And hard. He said that already, didn't he?

Because Peter comes to the realization he'd rather he didn't have: May and Matt (M&M as Tony refers to them, constantly, and now Peter can't look at the candy without feeling sick) do not have room in their lives for him. And that's fine. It really is. Peter's moving out when he's turning eighteen anyway (not his original plan, but he won't breathe a word of that to May or anyone who asks, but it's hard to commute anyway) for college, so it's not like he'll be here that much longer.

Just two years. Less than two.

The longest two years of his life. Because where Peter is an idle thought in the back of May's head every once in awhile (when she can stop looking in Matt's eyes and sighing dreamily like a twelve year old with a crippling crush), Matt is doing pretty much everything he can to make Peter want to leave a lot sooner. He doesn't like Peter. He didn't want Peter.

He gets that.

Peter is annoying. He's awkward. Has the social skills of a poor light fixture. (Spider-Man doesn't. Never has. He's everything Peter wishes he was, but isn't. He wants, oh, gosh, he wants to go out in the suit. May won't let him. It's sat in his closet for the entire summer, and people now think that Spider-Man is actually dead and Peter can't disprove them because she never—) He knows that Matt has justification for being so mean sometimes.

And it's not all the time. Just. Just sometimes. And it's only a few comments here and there. But it hurts in a place he hadn't realized it would when Matt does it in front of May, and May does nothing. But that's fine. It's all fine.

And even if it wasn't, he can't tell anyone, because it's not that bad. Ned is already dealing with his dad, and MJ is trying to re-adjust to her family. Her brother got married and her mom adopted a daughter during the snap, so yeah. Peter's situation? In the grand scale of things? Insignificant. He gained something. He should be happy. May's happy. That should be enough for him. But—he just...

(Peter hates this so much, sometimes he can't breathe.)

Peter trips up (not down, because that would be reasonable, and when has the universe ever been that way for him?) the stairs on his shoelace.

That's pretty much this entire morning summed up in a sentence.

His palms take the brunt of the impact, but his knee slams against the edge of one of the stairs and he feels an expletive escape his lips as the jarring pain whispers through the limb. He sits there for a second in a position that reminds him vaguely of the beginning of a push-up before he awkwardly pulls back. His backpack thumps against the base of his spine and he bites back a groan when the edge of a book (probably history) digs into the area.

MJ looks like she's struggling to hold back a laugh as she and Ned flip around at the sound of his collapse. Ned's expression grows sympathetic, but MJ moves towards him first because she's closer. Peter brushes dirt off of his knees and winces as he touches the pulsing area.

Okay. Lesson learned: Just because he's running late doesn't mean he should take the stairs four at a time.

"Graceful, Parker." MJ remarks, kneeling down so she can take his hand to look at his left palm. He resists his primal instinct to pull away and lets her study it.

"Haha." Peter mumbles, playing with his jacket's zipper in discomfort. "The grace of a dancer."

"More like a baby penguin learning how to walk." Ned remarks dryly, offering a hand out to him when MJ determines that his palms are undamaged enough to not call for immediate aid. They only sting a little. He didn't break any skin, thankfully. He doesn't really want to go to the nurse's office. Or try and get bandages to stick to his palms.

Peter sighs, rubbing at his face. After a moment, he leans down and properly ties his left shoelace to prevent a similar incident in the future.

"So," MJ says as Ned helps haul him to his feet. "I'm guessing that you didn't set your alarm. Again."

"I did set it." Peter assures, "I just...didn't really get up to it." He hadn't slept for more than an hour and was exhausted. Laying in bed seemed better than nothing. And he was trying to avoid May and Matt eating breakfast, but that's...not really important. Just a side note in a long list of things. He kept dreaming. Kept thinking. If it had been before the Snap, Peter would have snuck out and burned out the energy with a few hours as Spider-Man. As it is…

That's not going to happen for a while.

A long while. Maybe ever now. It's been more than three months and May still hasn't let him touch the suit yet. She keeps insisting its for his safety and that they should tell Matt first before he goes out. The latter never happens. (He's not bitter. Not even a little bit.) Peter's not going out unless he breaks her wishes, and that's a little hard to keep quiet with the news blasting stories about what he did.

They seem to be itching for the opportunity to spot his familiar red and blue suit, just some sort of word that he's alive.

Ned smiles, "What? Not rearing to go for the day?"

Peter makes a face. "Find me someone who actually gets excited when their alarm goes off in the morning. I'll buy you a coffee."

Ned scoffs. "As if you have the money."

Inwardly burying a wince, Peter forces him expression to smooth over. The three of them hop up the remainder of Midtown's staircase without another incident on his part. MJ and Ned begin to list assignment grievances and Peter backs out of the conversation as quickly and subtly as he can, not wanting to talk to them. He wants to be here, he just...talking is hard sometimes. It's...heavy.

It has been since before the Snap, and...that didn't really change when he came back from the dead. A lot of things have. (Far too many.) But not that. He doesn't know whether or not to grind his teeth together in annoyance or thank the heavens that something stayed the same.

MJ and Ned keep up a steady commentary about how much they don't want to complete the physics presentation, but it's pretty obvious that both are eyeing him from their peripheral vision.

He doesn't like their attention. It feels uncomfortable.

He glances at his feet again, making sure the other foot is tied, too. He always leaves his laces untied. He knows that MJ and Ned think he's crazy, but Peter's found it's easier in the morning when he goes running. If he re-ties them every day then the shoes are snug and he doesn't have to worry about it sliding off his feet every other step.

He may not have Spider-Man anymore, but at least he has that.

May can't make excuses to stop him.

But he was in such a hurry to get out of the apartment that he didn't have time to stop and tie his laces. He didn't stop running until he got within a block of Midtown so he could calm his breathing before he arrived.

No need to make anyone think he's being chased.

There are no monsters behind him. Haven't been for a while. MJ and Ned grow quieter as they slip inside the large halls, but Peter's relieved to see that a majority of the students are still lingering there. He wasn't so late as to enter an empty school. That's not his favorite thing, even though it's only happened a few times.

Peter ducks his head and follows MJ and Ned's feet, trusting them not to lead him into a wall.

It's weird to look out in the crowd of faces and realize he doesn't recognize most of them. Half of these students were in middle school or elementary when he...died. (Because he's been dead. Peter Parker was legally dead for five years. Years. Not months. Not weeks. Years.) Honestly, Peter can't say he was fond of everyone in his grade before the Snap happened, but now he's clinging to their familiar presence like it will save him from drowning.

MJ breaks off of them to make her way to physics with one final jab about Peter's shoelace problem and he and Ned slip into math. He knows she thinks it's hilarious, so he's not really sure why it stings that she keeps making fun of it.

Math passes. Science passes. The day drones on. Peter is dreading as every second, quietly pleading with the clock to go backwards.

He doesn't want to go home.

He doesn't want to go home.

School is such a relief. So many hours that he has to spend away from the stuffy walls and...them. That's terrible. He shouldn't say things like that. They're his family. He has to love them. And it's not that he doesn't, because he does, it's just...it's just—it's fine. It's all fine.

He doesn't need to sit here and angst about it. He could. But he wont. There's not a point. He's not Batman.

Lunch arrives, marking the mid-way point of the school day and Peter can't do anything but spin the food around the plate as he tries not to panic. He remembers when he first got the suit from Tony and how time had seemed to drag exceedingly. Now he can't believe he was ever excited for school to end.

He wishes it would go on forever. He has since it started and he realized how long it would keep him from home. The rest of the summer was a nightmare wrapped in fudge pudding with icing on the top. As it went on, Peter had come to hate every second of it. He can't remember being more relieved for a school year to start than he has this year.

And now the school day is almost over.

Peter doesn't eat much of his lunch, too nauseous to stomach it.

If Ned and MJ notice, they don't say anything.

The last class that Peter has for the day is English, and he drags himself to it with heavy reluctance. He takes a seat in the back and rests his head on his hand, leaning his elbow on the desktop. This is one of the only classes that he doesn't share with either MJ or Ned (or both), and it causes a slight flare of anxiety to build in his chest when he can't see too many familiar faces.

He hates being reminded about his death.

Seeing these not-elementary students here is like a slap to the face.

The clock keeps ticking. Mrs. Loader, a transfer teacher from another high school during the five year period, is enthusiastically discussing her newest assignment and Peter feels his heart come to a thudding race in his chest as he pays attention long enough to pick out details.

A presentation.

About family trees.

Could she have picked a worse topic?

Peter raises his hand, trying to ignore the burn on his face and how his fingers are trembling. It takes a second for Mrs. Loader to notice, but she turns at last, "Yes, Mr. Parker?"

"Um," his swallows a squeaking noise and forces himself to continue. Ask the question. Then be quiet. He can't do one before the other. "I just. For the project, on family trees, I'm...my…" why can't he just talk? It's not that hard! Make the words, use air, use tongue. "My parents died when I was six. I live with my aunt, but my uncle died when I was fourteen and she remarried during the, uh, intermission. Blip. Whatever. What family do you want me to look into?"

Mrs. Loader blinks a little, head tipping. She makes a slight face and then shrugs somewhat. "How about you try your step-uncle? I don't think that's a proper term. Your aunt's new husband. He must be unfamiliar to you, it would be a good bonding experience."

What!?

No!

Peter's stomach drops, but he forces himself to nod and give her a smile. His leg has begun tapping up and down under the desk. "Probably."

Mrs. Loader nods and looks out at the other students. "Any other questions?"

A few other students raise their hands with some similar to Peter's. Guardianship seems to have changed a considerable amount since before the Snap. Peter knew about Ned losing his dad, but he hadn't realized the sheer amount of his fellow students who need clarification. Beyond himself, there's eight.

Eight.

It's less than half, but it's still a lot. Thanos did more than just wipe half the population away. He destroyed entire lives; even of those who weren't killed. People like Pepper and Tony are rare. Those lucky enough to have managed to stick through the whole experience together.

The full five years.

Like May and Matt.

He does not want to talk to his step-uncle about this. Matt is many things. Family is not one of those.

000o000

He can hear it in his head. A small voice whirring and whirring.

Got vertigo. Got vertigo. Got vertigo.

Someone help me! I can't tell what way is up!

000o000

Peter remains on the outside of the apartment door for longer than is probably socially acceptable, but he can't twist the key in the lock and take a step inside. He doesn't...he wants to be anywhere but here. It's so stupid. There is nothing wrong with May finding a new husband. (Replacing Ben.) She just...she's happy.

Peter needs to be happy about that, too.

He just...finds it hard.

Anything relating to happiness is hard. He doesn't think he remembers how to be. He doesn't know if he ever knew. May's trying, and that should be enough for him. He should be happy. He shouldn't be so ungrateful. At least May wasn't alone for five years. Matt was taking care of her.

And Peter knows that he's squished his way into their family unit and Matt would really rather Peter hadn't.

Peter wishes he hadn't either.

But where does he have to go?

When his neighbor's door opens, Peter shoves the key into the lock frantically, trying to make it seem like he wasn't standing there for the better part of five minutes debating on how he long he can stay out here. He twists the metal, hears the click and shoves the door open.

He's immediately greeted by the unfamiliar smells of the apartment. Enhanced senses, Peter has long since decided, are given far more love than they deserve. Everyone makes it seem like this cool thing that allows you to hear for miles and smell the faint traces of anything and, and, and—

Peter's heard the rant from Ned a few more times than he cares to admit.

Peter hates his enhanced senses. Now more than ever. When it was just him and May here, it was a comforting scent. Now he has to fight his gag reflex every time he steps into the space. Matt may not know it yet, but spicy cologne is about as far from flattering as he could get. He's a mechanic, too, so oil and metal parts frequently fill up the space and make it smell like arson is about to become a problem.

He can't stand the smell of car parts without thinking about him, and thinking about him makes Peter feel so guilty because he and May were so happy before he showed up and stuffed his way inside and, and, and—

He takes a step into the space, breathing as little as possible. He can't see May or Matt around and allows his shoulders to droop in relief. He keeps his footsteps light and as he slips down the hall to his bedroom, closing the door quietly behind him. Once inside, he breathes in a little easier. He leaves his window open constantly now, so no more spicy cologne or car parts scent.

He drops his backpack beside his bed and allows himself to flop onto the mattress, exhaling heavily into it. The sound is muffled, for which he's grateful.

Schoolwork. Sleep. Talk to Matt. His stomach gives a painful jerk. He should probably add "eat something" to the list.

Alright. Enough lazing. Get up. Up, up, up!

Peter can't move. He just lays there, tipping his head so he can breathe, but he has so much work to accomplish that he doesn't have time to be doing this. It's the middle of the quarter, which means its tests, projects, and presentations week. Which means he should get started.

Peter hauls himself off of his bed, but he feels like dead weight.

000o000

Peter slides into his usual seat at the table a few hours later and sees May glance up at him. "Hey. How was school?"

Peter's gaze flicks to Matt when the man's own blue one settles on him. Matt's leaning in the chair, using his fork like a spoon and that bothers Peter incredibly. He never uses spoons, but uses forks like they're spoons and no one comments on it. He and May have been married for four years, so she must be used to it, but still.

Forks are not spoons.

"Okay." Peter says, mumbles, and isn't surprised when he doesn't get a response from either of them. He tries to stomach some of the spaghetti, but it's settling like cement into his stomach. Matt cooked it. Matt is an excellent cook, something May is all too-happy to gush over. Look Peter, we no longer have to starve! Look Peter, no more burned meals. Look Peter, I've been so spoiled these past few years. Look—

Yeah.

He gets it.

Sometimes he's half afraid that Matt will poison the food in an effort to get rid of Peter. But whatever. He's just as paranoid as his stupid spider sense is. The thing rarely stops humming when he's home, and usually only ceases if May and Matt are out for the evening or at work. Peter gets left home a lot these days. Which is fine. He doesn't really care.

He keeps looking towards Matt's face, and trying to picture them having a long discussion about Matt's family, but it doesn't seem to fit. It seems far to out of character for the man for Peter to get any real answers out of him.

But now that he asked, Mrs. Loader will be expecting to know all about Matt's grandparents and great parents and the (maybe) third removed cousin on his mother's side. Things Peter could couldn't care less about if he tried. He would have been more interested to do some research on his birth parents or even May, but instead he gets Matt.

Curse his dumb mouth for saying things at the wrong time.

"Hey, um, Matt," Peter starts quietly. His voice feels small. Kind of sick.

Matt's smile drops as he looks towards him, sighing somewhat. "What?"

Peter digs his fingernails into his knees, other hand clenched around the fork. He has to keep reminding himself to keep the pressure easy lest he snap it. "I'm doing this project for English," he starts carefully, "and my teacher wanted me to talk about extended families. She recommended I look into yours…"

May's eyes alight and she turns to Peter. The full blaze of her attention nearly throws him. "That sounds wonderful! A bonding experience for my two favorite boys!"

Peter barely contains a wince or a grimace. Matt's eyes openly flick up with annoyance.

What is Peter doing now? Everything he does seems to be an annoyance to Matt and it's driving Peter crazy. Not that he wants to please him (not that much), but he can't see any of the qualities in the man that May is so happy to talk about. With how fondly she speaks over him, Peter really thought he'd be a better person.

And—whoa!

Stop.

Calm down, Pete. Matt is a good person. Just. Sometimes you don't get along with everyone. Peter must just have this annoying idiosyncrasy that drives Matt crazy. (Beyond the fact that Matt doesn't want him here. And May must not want him here, either, because of how much she pretends he isn't here.) Like how Peter hates it that Matt never uses spoons.

It's a spoon. It's not harmful. It's practical.

"Then you can learn all about Matt's family," May continues, obviously oblivious to the stink eye Matt is giving him. Or maybe she's not and doesn't care. Peter can't really tell anymore. May never gets after Matt anyway. He wonders about that a lot. "Did you know that his parents are from Britain? He has a cousin who knows Tom Hiddleston on a personal basis."

Tom who?

Of course he has someone in his family well connected. He doesn't know why he's annoyed about that.

"His family is pretty well known there. We visited them on Christmas last year," May says and smiles fondly at the memory, glancing towards the living room. That's another thing that's different: the photos. May didn't really believe in photos before the Snap, thinking them a waste of time and money. Peter had privately loved photography, but the camera he managed to put together needed batteries and batteries are expensive so May asked him to stop.

He did. He has hundreds of photos still on the memory card. He didn't remove them before the batteries gave out. Hadn't expected May to not buy more.

But the photos. They take up nearly an entire wall now. Wedding photos, vacations, still lives, holidays. It's obvious that May was finally able to travel as much as she wanted to. She and Ben had rarely hunkered down in one place before Peter was dumped on them ten—fifteen—years ago. (That will never stop being so strange. He should be twenty-one, why—why did he have to vanish? If he hadn't, he'd be legally able to move out now, but he's sixteen.)

There aren't any photos of Ben and May. Or May and him. Which makes sense. Peter hasn't been here, and May didn't like photos.

What changed?

(What didn't?)

"Yeah." Peter manages to find his voice, pulling his gaze back to his aunt. "Yeah, it would be cool to learn about Matt's family."

May is beaming, she reaches out and gives his hand a squeeze. Peter's eyes feel wide. "What else did you learn in school today?" May asks, "Any other projects you're working on?"

Peter pauses, chewing on the inside of his lip, but privately relishing in the attention and hating himself for it. "Oh. Um. We're working on this thing in physics. How planes fly and that? So. Um. My teacher asked us to put together this project or a presentation, and I was thinking of putting together a model to show how important air resistance is by using these fans and paper airplanes and—"

A noodle lands on the side of May's face and she startles, expression and attention snapping away from him. She turns to Matt who's grinning cheekily and Peter watches as a slow smile spreads up his aunt's face. "You didn't." She challenges.

"I did." Matt says cheerfully.

May slowly pulls the noodle off her cheek and drapes it on top of Matt's glass.

Peter feels his hands slowly drop back to his lap from where they were lifted. If he tries to keep talking, they'll only ignore him. He's been through this whole routine before. Peter sighs and realizes that his appetite, meager as it was, is completely gone now.

"And do you know what I'm going to do about that, Mr. Argon?" May questions silky. Peter gets up and grabs his plate, piling his glass and fork onto the porcelain and moving for the sink. One of the last things that Peter wants to see them do is snog. They'll just sit there and kiss like there's no other reason for existence.

"I have an idea, Mrs. Argon." Matt responds. Peter can hear the smile in his voice.

Peter barely withholds a flinch. She changed her last name. Not even to Parker-Argon, but just Argon. It's like she's wiped all traces of Ben's existence from her life and it hurts. Peter can't be the only one who remembers him anymore. Not that he wants May's grief to be so strong and prominent, but he wishes she would at least acknowledge that the man that bled out in Peter's hands was, at one point, the love of her life.

Parker.

Peter covets the last name like it's his desert island in the middle of a raging sea. He didn't have to change it after his parents died, and he's not going to. May hasn't asked him to, yet, but he gets the feeling that she will.

It's only a matter of time.

Peter places his dishes in the sink and scrubs at them furiously as he hears May and Matt continue to flirt in the background. There is one thing that he's certain of now: No matter how much he likes MJ (he can't even ask her on a date. Pathetic.) he is not getting married. If being married means you push everyone else out so they're the third wheel to your romance, he's good.

Has gotten his fill and now he's being overstuffed.

Peter sets the dishes in the strainer and leaves the kitchen. Neither Matt or May say a word to him. He hadn't expected them to.

000o000

If there's one highlight about this, it's that Tony makes it a requirement that Peter call him on the weekends at least to say hi before popping back out again. He had already been texting Tony fairly regularly before Thanos happened, so it's not too different to be calling. But Peter hates phones. He hates talking on phones.

They're like...he doesn't know. They're evil. He'd rather use not-phones, but a lot of people prefer being able to listen to tone of voice. Texting removes most of our signs of communication, which is why it's so easy to take things the wrong way, he remembers his health teacher explaining in eighth grade. That feels like a lifetime ago.

But the phone. It's Tony, so it doesn't bother him too much, even though it should. Still. It does just a little bit. (But that's fine. He hasn't told Tony, and Tony doesn't need to know.) Peter's working on his physics project when Tony calls this week and he releases a shuddering breath before answering. "Hey." He greets. His voice sounds kind of terrible.

"Hey," Tony says smoothly, "hi, hola, privet, etcetera. I see you're still alive post test week."

Peter huffs. "You like to think so, but now I have to finish my physics project before Monday and I haven't started until ten minutes ago."

Tony whistles. "You better pick up the pace there, gramps. Going to get yourself into all kinds of trouble. Ha. That reminds me of the one time in college that I had this presentation I had to give in my science class and didn't prepare at all. I just kind of showed up to class and made it up on the spot."

Peter's eyes go wide. "You're kidding."

"Not even a little bit. Ask Rhodey if you want a backup source of information. He was both impressed and not. That was actually one of my best grades the whole semester, so take what you will with that. Actually, don't. Do your homework, Pete. I'm supposed to be a good influence." Tony is quiet a moment, before sighing and submitting, "That aside, how was your week?"

And Tony knows already. Peter texts Tony pretty regularly. Not about serious stuff. Not often. Tony is recovering. He's learning how to live with one arm and also building a prosthetic so he doesn't have to. They don't talk as much as they used to after the second snap, though. Tony, Pepper and Morgan moved out of state about a month ago and the transition was...hard. Peter spent most of his time at the Tower helping where he could, but once that was gone, he was grounded in M&M's apartment.

But Peter doesn't let him know about the hard things because the last thing Tony needs to deal with on top of everything else is Peter's teenage angst. And it's fine. Peter's coping. He's managed thus far.

Peter tells Tony about his week anyway. He appends further on things he texted and asks Tony about the progress he's made on his arm and how he's doing. He makes headway on his physics project and is in the middle of telling Tony about how when his math teacher—an ex-military man easily six foot six with shoulders too broad to fit in a suit coat—made them all do push-ups in the middle of class when the door opens and Matt pokes his head in.

Peter stills, words coming to a crumbling halt inside his mouth.

He lifts his phone away from his mouth and looks at the man. "What are you doing?" Matt questions, obviously irritated. "Who are you talking to?"

Peter blinks, "Um." As far as he is aware, Matt does not know how close he and Tony are. He knows that Peter knows Tony, but he's pretty sure Matt assumed all the visits to the Tower over the summer were because of Peter's internship. He can't exactly go blabbing out that he's talking to Iron Man to the person he wouldn't trust to keep a pet rock alive.

"Nevermind that," Matt says, "will you quiet down? You're distracting me. I'm working from home today. I'm trying to call some clients."

So he means scream at them.

Because Matt isn't just a mechanic. He owns his own business. Sundays are spent yelling at people on the phone from the kitchen as he and May pretend that it doesn't bother them. Maybe it doesn't for May. She's probably used to it after so long. They haven't even been contacted by their neighbors exclaiming over how annoying it is to hear Matt scream.

It bothers Peter immensely. His enhanced senses, he suspects, are the main reason for this. It's almost impossible to ignore Matt, even with earbuds in. The noise-cancelling headphones that he used to own were tossed out when May cleaned and boxed up his room some years ago, and Peter hasn't been brave enough to ask Tony for a second pair.

"Oh." Peter says. "I didn't think I was being that loud."

Not like Matt is.

Matt snorts, expression narrowing the slightest bit and it makes Peter feet so small. Like a stupid child who doesn't understand how something works even after the thousanths time explaining. "Well you were. Keep it quiet in here, alright? Quiet down or get out."

Peter's teeth clamp together. He gives a voiceless nod and Matt shakes his head, but leaves, giving the door a hard shove when he exits. The sound causes him to jump.

He exhales sharply, soundlessly, and gives himself a brief moment to collapse before he lifts the phone back to his ear. "Sorry. That was Matt."

Tony is quiet a moment. "Trouble in paradise?"

He has no idea.

Peter gives a humorless huff. As if this could be paradise. But it's not that bad. It's really not. Compared to what other kids have to go through, Peter is living in paradise, and Tony is right to point that out. Because Peter is just being stupid. And selfish. And a little bit petty. If he needs to be quiet to gain Matt's respect then he'll do that.

"I need to go," Peter answers instead, "thanks for calling."

"Yeah. No problem. Call me next week?" Tony asks.

Peter thinks of Matt's narrowed eyes and the unease crawling up his back. Still crawling up his spine. "I. Um. We'll see." Peter mutters. "Bye, Tony."

"Bye, kid."

Peter hangs up the phone. He sets it on his desk and does his best to be as silent as possible for the rest of the day. It's past eight when Peter realizes he didn't eat dinner and clambers out of his room to go find something, confused. May usually tries to have dinner be a family affair. And wouldn't she have told him if they were going to be eating late?

Peter slips into the hallway and then to the kitchen, seeing May and Matt on the couch, snuggled together. They're watching a movie, and something in Peter's gut churns with what he suspects is jealousy. Because that was...the was...that was he and May's thing. Ben started it. Sunday was family time, and often that meant movie night.

Peter saw Star Wars for the first time on family movie night.

Ultimately, Peter must have made a noise verbally—he can't recall moving—because both twist around on the couch. Matt's expression immediately thins, but May's goes wide. "Oh my gosh, Peter!" she says and clambers off of the couch despite Matt reaching for her. "I'm so sorry. I forgot you were here!"

The words strike like a physical blow.

Peter barely keeps himself from taking a step back. His lips try to form words, but all that escapes him is a little noise.

May slaps her forehead. "Ugh. This is terrible. I'm an awful mom." She looks back at Matt, "Why didn't you remind me?"

"I thought Peter had gone out. He was being quiet for once." Matt says flatly.

And that stings, too, because Peter is quiet. Matt makes it sound like he's been holding parties in his small bedroom—not ideal people space—for weeks without relief. May makes no defense. Peter didn't expect one. He can't get his words to work.

"There's leftovers in the fridge." May says. "For dinner. That's why you're out here, isn't it?"

She assumes that like Peter wouldn't have just wanted company. Which. He doesn't. Not with Matt. Never with Matt. But she still. It's like May started assuming her only role as his guardian was to feed him and keep a roof over his head. Which...which it is, isn't it? They don't have to be friends for her to do that. They don't even have to be close. That's...that's just how it works. Media likes to make the family look a lot better than it is.

May is...she's trying. He gets that. He knows that. She's doing her best.

She forgot about him.

"No. No, I'm not very hungry. I just came to say goodnight." Peter says at last. His words sound slightly strangled, but no one comments. May's brow furrows like he's speaking another language.

"Oh." She says. Peter realizes that, post the initial week of his re-entrance into him living with her, she nor Matt—thankfully—have not said goodnight to one another. They've barely spoken except at mealtimes. May lets him know their schedules, but she doesn't…"Oh, alright." May agrees. She doesn't move for a hug. She doesn't kiss him on the forehead. Peter can see that she's looking towards the couch and the popcorn and Matt. She wants to go back. He's an obstacle to be met and then defeated before she can return.

"Goodnight, Peter." May says. She smiles, like this is what used to be normal.

Peter's own is strained.

"Goodnight." Matt says from the couch. May nods and gives him a one-armed, very quick hug before returning to the couch and easily settling next to Matt's side again. Matt is still staring at him, obviously angry and flicking his gaze towards the hall. His message is pretty clear:

Go away.

Peter resists the urge to clear his throat, pats his hands against his legs and then turns around. His stomach feels hot with hunger, no longer just uncomfortable, but the thought of having to go back out there makes him sick. Peter clambers into bed at eight thirty and can't fall asleep for the better part of two hours. He hears May and Matt laughing and smells when alcohol is opened.

That's something else that Matt did. May hadn't drunk in years before. She had a scare in college where she hit Ben's car and nearly totaled it. Thankfully, this was in the parking lot, but May always told the story of how they met with the conclusive: "And that's why I've been dry sense."

Matt drinks.

So May drinks.

And the apartment always smells like alcohol on weekends when they binge. Peter has, stupidly, wished for both of them to get alcohol poisoning just so they'd see how stupid they're being and stop. It's around eleven when his phone buzzes, and Peter rolls over miserably to smack his hand down on the desk before he locates it.

Unlocking the screen, he sees Tony has texted him.

Night, kid. Go to bed. Don't stay up late working on the pys project, alright?. You'll regret it tomorrow. —TS

Peter scrolls up and realizes that they've been texting each other good night almost every day since Tony left New York. Feeling warm, Peter texts him back and sets the phone on the bedside table. He remembers Pepper's arms around him before they left for New York and realizes that he's gotten more hugs from her than he has May.

He's okay with that.

He's trying to be.

000o000

"Have you written down anything I said?" Matt questions, looking at Peter's empty notebook page. Peter's hands tremble and he scoots back a little on the chair he's seated in, wishing the table had more girth.

"Um. Yeah. I—" Peter starts.

Matt makes an annoyed sound. "We've been talking for the better part of, what? Two hours now, and you haven't done anything? Is it actually possible for you to get more dense?"

Peter swallows. He lifts up the paper and shows Matt the other side where his hastily written out family tree has been scribbled. "I just flipped the page." Peter says, so quiet it hardly feels like more than a whisper. "I don't think you saw."

Matt's nostrils flare. He slaps his hand down on the table and Peter flinches. "I'm a busy man. That isn't legible. We're going to have to start over, aren't we?"

"No." Peter gives a slight shake of his head. "No. I can read it. I'll put in into the computer before I take it up to school tomorrow." Because Matt had made him wait until Thursday, even though they had had plenty of time during the week to do otherwise. Peter hates having projects drag out until the last possible second. Everyone who knows him knows that. Peter's pretty sure Matt knows that, too, and did it on purpose.

It seems like the kind of thing he would do.

Peter immediately feels terrible for thinking that and swallows heavily. May's husband, he reminds himself, May's loving, very supportive husband.

"Good." Matt says gruffly. "It's the only way your teacher will make sense of it. You have the handwriting of a doctor, and I don't mean that as a compliment."

Peter looks down at the words he wrote down and sees how they are so slanted they're almost sideways. Tony always called Peter's handwriting dramatic because it looked like Peter was writing in italics constantly. Peter had just laughed it off. Now he wonders if Tony meant that as a compliment, or if Peter just read it wrong.

Peter doesn't say anything. He awkwardly pushes the pen up the notebook as he double checks his notes on his phone to make sure he has everything for the assignment. He really doesn't want to add make-up work to the list of things to do.

"Um. I think that's everything." Peter says.

"Good." Matt sighs. "They might as well have wanted a freakin' history book." He's in a mood tonight. Which isn't great. Matt's never exactly nice, but when he gets into...moods is such an awful word, but it fits, he's not...he's not always the greatest company.

Peter agrees with him, though. He now knows far more about Matt's relatives than he cared to know before. The man might as well be related to the Queen of England for how well he's connected to everyone.

"Yeah." Peter agrees and awkwardly gets up to his feet. The chair scrapes against the floor and releases a loud wail. Peter winces as Matt's blue eyes flick to him.

"Sit down. We need to talk."

"We do?" Peter questions, his throat going tight. "About what?" He doesn't want to talk to Matt anymore. The last two hours have been a small taste of what going down the slide instead of up the ladder is like. He and Matt have not spent this much time together in...probably ever. May doesn't usually leave them alone and with both of them working full time...yeah, Peter doesn't really see them a lot.

"You need a job."

Peter goes rigid. It's a topic he remembers discussing with May before, when they were struggling with money, but she'd firmly planted her feet and said that he needed to focus on his education. Peter had backed out with reluctance. Fortunately, it had opened time for Spider-Man (Peter's gut pulls in longing at the name) at a later date. But still.

"I…" Peter trails. "Stark internship."

That was not a full sentence.

Matt waves a hand. "Is apparently only active in the summer. You've only gone up to the Tower then. You need a real job. Did Stark even pay you?"

Peter could say yes, but he doesn't have any cover up proof for that lie. He also gets the impression that if he does say yes, Matt will find out that Peter isn't telling the full truth and then he'll be in trouble.

"No." Peter submits. "He didn't. It was...volunteer work." He made up the internship to cover for Spider-Man, so it's...it's not totally lying, right?

Matt's eyebrow lifts a little, but when Peter doesn't add anything, he says, "You can come work for me." Peter thinks he's in danger of both throwing up, panicking, or flipping the table over. Maybe all of them in that order. "I own a company. I just lost one of my guys. You'll learn about cars, budgeting, etcetera. Actual things that will be important when you're an adult."

Yeah, but everyone always says that like somehow it justifies what they're doing. And it's never helpful stuff usually.

"I'm." Peter says, and doesn't get another word in before Matt is getting to his feet, buttoning his business suit and nodding.

"Great. I'll bring in the application for you to fill out tomorrow."

"School." Peter tries again. He can't get in more than one-word answers.

"You can come in after." Matt says flippantly. "Take a late shift. You'll be back by eight."

But he didn't agree to this in the first place!

"I—" Peter tries one last time, but Matt is already leaving the kitchen. Peter stands there for a moment longer, his feet numb, but his breath tight in his chest. He wants to be sick, but can't get himself to move. He thinks he's paralyzed.

Jobs mean talking.

Talking means socializing.

Peter is terrible at talking. And people. And jobs.

000o000

He calls MJ. He tries to explain the situation to her, but she keeps telling him to just drop the work and move on. Tell Matt no. The thought hadn't even occurred to Peter before, but the idea makes his toes curl. May would be so disappointed, and Matt might be angry.

He can't handle either of those. MJ just doesn't understand how crippling it is. To want to make someone proud, but failing at their expectations or them simply not caring about what you do. Peter received a letter from the school congratulating him on being on the honor roll for quarter one a few weeks ago.

May hadn't done anything. Matt had scowled, but Peter's long since put together that Matt didn't get a high school diploma and started his company because no one would hire him. But Peter had handed it to her and she'd simply shrugged and said, "I'll put it in your school folder. It's just them telling you you're on the honor roll."

Just on the honor roll!?

Does she not understand how hard he worked for that? How much he bent over backwards in a world he hardly recognizes to get those stupid A's because everyone has told him that that's all his life revolves around? And she'd been so flippant. Like those A's were no easier to achieve than the ones before it. Like Peter couldn't not care and refuse to do homework.

She'd just…

It's stupid.

So, so petty.

Peter keeps his voice as low as he can during their conversation, but Matt still pokes his head in and tells Peter to quiet down. He hangs up almost promptly after that and buries his head into his pillow, and screams. He hates it here. Hates that what is supposed to be his home feels like a prison.

May isn't home. She's working a late shift which is probably why Matt finally submitted and helped him tonight. Peter's going crazy. He's going to combust and it won't be a pretty sight or clean up. Peter can picture where the Spider-Man suit is in his closet vividly. He can detail the layout of the clothing covering it.

He shouldn't.

He really shouldn't.

May will ground him to high heaven.

Peter locks his door, opens his window and is gone in a flash of red and blue before he even realizes what he's doing. He does his best not be seen by cameras or bright lights as he goes on patrols, but there's more than a dozen people that recognize him by name. Word is going to spread. He's going to be in so much trouble. Peter really doesn't care.

000o000

He does care. A lot. The story hits the news, even despite his best efforts and May comes barreling into his room once she's home from work, expression incensed. Ned had spent much of that morning fangirling and whispering in hushed tones about how Peter finally went out again and how he's offended that he didn't utilize his Guy-In-The-Chair.

Honestly, it hadn't even occurred to Peter to do so. He was kind of more focused on the fact that he could talk to Karen again.

Flash had been nearly as ecstatic as Ned was, telling everyone and anyone that his hero was alive again and—weird. When did Flash get fond of Spider-Man?

MJ had eyed him for the entire day with a suspicion that made Peter kind of nauseous. Ned really didn't help. He's pretty sure that MJ will have the whole thing figured out by tomorrow. If he's lucky. She'll probably call him in the middle of the night instead and ask him about his alter ego. He's not looking forward to that conversation.

Maybe he could tell her first. Lesson the blow?

But he's not supposed to be focused on his friends, he's supposed to be focusing on May. May, who is crying and looks betrayed and hurt all at once.

"You gave me your word, Peter." She says, "You said that you'd stop."

Peter blinks up at her from his homework, not understanding. "You...May, you said that it'd...You said that once we told Matt I could…"

The realization dawns on him. May hadn't told Matt because she had never intended for him to go out as Spider-Man again. She doesn't give a flippin' figs foot about him, but Spider-Man? That is the thing that bothers her. A bitter, pessimistic part of him grinds out, of course she'll pick and choose who to parent.

"You...lied to me." Peter says. "You said that you'd tell him. And that I'd—"

"Do you think he doesn't already know!?" May exclaims suddenly, angrily, and Peter's gut drops into a hollow pit of his stomach. "I told him when you were dead. Dead, Peter, because you abandoned me for five years!"

"I didn't—"

"You could have stayed in that bus." May continues, "You could have stayed home. Stayed safe. Instead, you went off on some alien spaceship and got yourself murdered. If you had been here, maybe the Avengers would have won. You would have been safe."

Peter chokes. "I was helping them. Tony said—"

"You are not going out as Spider-Man again!" she exclaimed. "You gave me your word that you wouldn't, and you did. How can I ever trust you?" she's crying openly now and shakes her head. "I'm so disappointed."

Peter sags against the chair, unable to hold up his weight.

She.

It.

He.

May turns on her heal and exits the room, sobbing hysterically as she pounds down the hall. Peter's entire body feels fiery and numb all at once with guilt. It's twisting in his stomach, right above his liver, and pulsating there like a demon laying eggs in his chest.

Why did he do that?

Why did he go out?

He would have been fine last night. It all would...he should have just…

The door is still open, and Matt comes storming in not a minute later, expression incensed. "What did you do to my wife?" he demands. "What did you say? Is this about Spider-Man?" Peter flinches. "It is. Aren't you supposed to be a hero? How could you have let her down like that? Caused her to cry? Hasn't May gone through enough already? You're such a selfish brat."

Peter can't talk.

He can't breathe.

"I was…" Peter tries. Matt slaps him. The palm of his hand is hard and rough and it's more shock than anything else that causes Peter to ram the other side of his head against the chair. His face burns and Peter's hand automatically lifts to the area like it will help to have it covered.

"I don't want your excuses." Matt's voice is low. "I want your promise of improvement. Until you apologize to your aunt, you're grounded. Give me your phone."

Peter blanches. That's the only way he can talk with Tony. With Pepper. With anyone. "I—"

"Phone. Now, Parker!"

"You're not my dad." Peter says suddenly, and he doesn't understand where this defiance is coming from. He feels like its been slowly bled from him over the last few months. "You can't ground me."

"I am your father, whether you want to accept that or not." Matt says heavily. "And I don't even want you as a kid. No one does. You're such a burden."

Peter curls into himself.

"Give me the phone."

His hands are trembling when he fishes it from his pocket and lets it fall into Matt's awaiting hand. Peter's eyes are burning with unshed tears, and he feels so young and stupid because of it. Matt turns and walks out of the room, pulling the door closed behind him. The lock clicks.

Matt only returns later that evening to give him the application paperwork and ice for his face. Apparently, even as angry as he is, he was serious about the job.

Peter doesn't see May for the rest of the weekend, so he doesn't get out for anything but bathroom breaks until Monday.

000o000

"I have to quit the decathlon team." Peter tells MJ during lunch. The day is halfway over, and Peter is feeling the familiar dread pooling up, even if he ate lunch like a starved animal. He hadn't eaten since Friday, and he's still starving.

MJ looks down from the book. "What? Why? You're our best member for science."

Peter shrugs. "I…"

"Is this related to spider-stuff?" Ned asks, non-to subtly. Peter feels terrible. The re-appearance of Spider-Man seems to have drawn Ned from his shell of grief somewhat, but now Spider-Man has to hunker down and die again because May is keeping the suit in her and Matt's bedroom. Peter apologized to her this morning. She took the suit after that.

Peter nearly buries his head into his hands, wondering how he could have been given one of the least subtle friends period.

MJ kicks his leg under the table. "Will you relax? I've known about...other you since school started."

Peter looks up, but he's gaping. "What? Seriously?" MJ nods. "Why didn't you say anything?"

"Why do you have to quit?" MJ counters. "You can't quit."

"I have to." Peter submits miserably. "Work."

"You didn't say no?" MJ asks.

He couldn't. She doesn't get that.

"No." Peter says. "I'm sorry."

MJ sighs. "I don't want you to be sorry. I want you to fix it."

Peter's breath clenches in his stomach. His cheek burns beneath the healed bruise. He spent the remainder of that Friday panicking with every part of his brain screaming badbadbadbadbad at him in a frantic, flapping rhythm. Peter would have thought he was being murdered. Not reprimanded. "Sorry." He repeats.

MJ shakes her head, but she's still angry. "Stop apologizing."

He can't.

"Sorry." He whispers.

000o000

Just saw all your texts. Sorry. Phone died. Didn't see them until now. -PP

Buzz.

All weekend? Your phone was dead the whole weekend?-TS

Yeah. Long few days.-PP

Long pause.

I thought someone maybe murdered you. Text me back sooner, okay? And keep your phone charged. I *will* send Nat and Clint after you with a BOLO if you drop off the face of the planet again. You know they're both assassins, right? -TS

I didn't drop off the face of the planet, Tony. -PP

I assumed something came up, but I was worried. I just wanted to make sure you weren't dead or anything. Had a happy weekend with Mom and Dad?-TS

Peter's entire body stiffens. He feels cold even though he's buried beneath three blankets and a hoodie. It's only October, but he thinks New York is entering into the ice age again.

NOT my parents. -PP

That was too quick. Tony will know something is up. Part of him hopes that Tony will. He thinks he could use a hero right now.

...If you say so, kid. -TS

000o000

Peter hates his job. He hates it. More than anything he can even think of hating. The concept of having a job he's fine with. The idea of cars and mechanical work he's also fine with. Adding them together underneath Matt's piercing stare is more than enough to leave him in a nervous breakdown at the end of the day. He comes home at ten, closes the door to the bathroom, and promptly throws up.

He still has homework to do, so he takes a shower with shaky limbs and works until his eyes are drooping. May and Matt are already asleep. They were asleep when he got home. They didn't wait up for him.

When he looks over his phone, there's a couple of texts from Tony, one from Pepper, and a handful from the other Avengers. He's not as close with them as he is the Tony and Pepper, but Natasha is nice. Steve is sometimes a lot to handle, but he's...he gets Peter's frustration with the whole 'I was dead thing.' Peter has more friends who are adults than his age.

That's okay, though, isn't it? Adults are easier to handle sometimes. Unless they're Matt.

Everyone is asking him how his first day went. Peter didn't tell Tony that the job was forced onto him. He didn't tell Tony that writing down Matt and May's names as his guardians made him sick. How he'd been filling out the paperwork one morning and May had, at long last, suggested that he finally change his name so he'd be "part of the family!"

Like somehow dropping Parker will solve all their issues.

Peter answers as many texts as he can, but the words are blurring together by the time he finishes texting MJ and he drops his phone on his head before he's done.

He doesn't want to go to work tomorrow. The very idea makes him sick. He doesn't know if he can quit. If he's allowed to quit. He hates jobs. He hates adulthood. He hates growing up and how everyone expects him to step up and care for himself when all he wants to do is crumple for an hour and not worry about how much time he's losing to everything else.

He wishes he was dead.

000o000

Peter lasts a week in the job before he approaches Matt and tries to explain that he's exhausted and he doesn't know if he can keep his grades up and work the shift. Suggests working on weekends only instead, and Matt throws the beer bottle he's drinking at Peter's head.

Peter know it's coming via his spider sense and dodges before its even a problem, but it leaves him unsettled when he hears the glass shatter.

"Don't be such a lazy baby," Matt snaps. "You need the experience. Didn't you spend every waking moment as Spidey for a while? You can do both. I know you can. You're just trying to wiggle your way out of responsibilities. New flash, Peter: that's not how reality works. Clean up that glass before May gets back here. You made a mess."

Peter bites his tongue that very much wants to point out it's Matt's fault, but goes to get some paper towels and a broom, trying not to cry.

000o000

It's the end of November. Thanksgiving is days away. So is a sort of science fair. His teacher has been preparing them for the better part of a month on their projects and Peter is really proud of his. Between work, lack of sleep and the increased homework as quarter two's end approaches, Peter thinks that managing to get anything done is impressive.

It's taken him the better part of fourteen hours in a week.

And May, who promised she'd be here, just texted to let him know she won't make it. Not even called. She texted. Two clipped sentences that make Peter's entire world feel strangely floaty.

Can't make it tonight, sorry. Matt and wanted me to attend a business meeting; I'll be there next time, promise. -MP

He really, really doubts that. She'd re-mapped her whole schedule for today to show up, and she's not going to come. Peter stands next to his table and feels numb and broken all at once. He doesn't even feel alive. He managed to get Matt to let him take the day off so he could be here for the not-fair. May was going to be here.

Peter sees the glint of metal on a fellow student's project and dumbly wonders what would happen if he ripped it off and chopped open his skin. Would he feel pain or nothing?

The parents begin to trickle in. Peter stares at his feet. He answers a few questions with his brain far away from his mouth before a hand wraps around his shoulders and a familiar voice says, "Ah, so this is the famed project you nearly died for."

Tony.

Peter's jaw falls and he jerks his head up quickly, hardly daring to breathe. He's not imagining it. Tony Stark is in his school. He's in a baseball cap with sunglasses on, wearing dark clothing and obviously making an attempt to hide his presence here, but he's here. Pepper is standing in front of the table, dressed in a similar manner.

Behind her is Natasha, smirking behind a cup of Starbucks coffee. "Hey, Parker," she says smoothly. Like Peter's entire brain hasn't stopped, shut down, and trying desperately to reboot without much success.

"What are you…" Peter's mouth is doing something funny. It's like his jaw is locking, but super loose at once. "What are you guys doing here? Aren't you supposed to be not in New York?"

"'Not in New York?'" Tony scoffs. "Really? Who taught you how to talk?"

Peter folds his arms across his chest, lifting his chin up definitely, but leans into Tony's arm.

"Thankfully not you." Natasha quips, earning a poke in the ribs from her teammate. The room is getting louder. There's more people filing in, but unlike the anxiety he had felt before, with the Avengers and Pepper here, he just...he feels…

Calm.

Content.

Okay.

"How did you even know this was going on? Or where? Or...why are you here?" Peter asks, looking up at Tony's face. "Where's Morgan?"

"With Clint." Pepper answers. "We dropped her off before we flew here."

"As for the second question, we're kidnapping you." Natasha says bluntly. Peter blinks, but when she doesn't retract or even look like she's joking, slowly turns his head to Tony.

"Uh…?"

Tony shrugs. "To put it lightly. It's a little spur of the moment kind of thing, but we were going to drop by M&M paradise anyway to say hi for the holidays. We were in New York. Natasha missed us."

Paradise?

That word does not belong with Matt.

"You wish." Natasha jibes. "Rhodey was weeping in your absence, not me. I was ready to throw a party until you ruined my holiday with your presence." The words are biting, but they're a familiar banter between the two. It used to make Peter uncomfortable seeing them verbally spar back and forth so much, but he's come to understand it's how they show affection. They're like siblings in that manner.

(He also knows that when Peter spent more time in the Tower, Tony would sometimes reach out for Natasha's hand, as if trying to make sure she was really there. Peter knows what happened with the Soul Stone, and how they're only shy of lucky to have gotten Natasha back in one piece. Natasha always complied and squeezed his palm back in return.)

"I already talked to May and she said it would be fine if we kidnapped you for a few days." Tony says. "Last day of school is today. We're here to pick you and Natashlie up. Nat just remembered that your science fair was today and I'd thought to drop by and see what you did. Which I must say is impressive. Are these magnets?"

Tony points at the end of one side. "Yeah." Peter says, but looks between him and Pepper. "Are you...you're inviting me to spend Thanksgiving with you? Out of state? Away from May and Matt?"

"Yeah." Pepper is nodding. "I'm sorry that this is kind of sudden, but—"

"Yes." Peter exclaims. "Yes, I would like that very much. I'm thrilled. Keep me kidnapped for as long as you want." He proclaims and buries himself into to Tony's side deeper. Tony hasn't let him go yet. He's letting Peter decide when it will end. May never allows him to do that.

Tony snickers and turns to Pepper. "He's adorable. Can I keep him permanently?"

000o000

Peter runs up the stairs, packs as quickly as he can for the weekend, and hobbles back down to the car without anyone having to come up and see M&M paradise. Tony said that he let May know and she A-okayed it, but Peter still texts to confirm. With that settled, he hops into the backseat of the car and spends the following drive to the airport engaged in conversation with the Starks and Natasha. It's not about school. It's not about work.

Pepper and Tony don't sit there the whole time and make googly eyes at each other. They hold hands loosely, but that's about it. They talk to people beyond each other. Tony asks him questions. Pepper asks him questions. They ask Natasha. They all engage in the conversation, but Peter doesn't even remember what the topic is.

He just knows that there's this feeling in his gut that only gets stronger as time passes.

Longing.

(And he should feel bad, he thinks, for jumping on this opportunity so readily. He didn't even say goodbye to Matt and May, but he doesn't really care.)

000o000

They get to the hotel room Tony is renting—apparently Thanksgiving is supposed to be spent at the Barton's, but there's not enough space in the farmhouse to accommodate for everyone—and Peter is exhausted. He throws his luggage on the ground beside a couch and collapses there, not intending to move for the better part of...forever.

He kind of wakes up when a blanket is draped over his shoulders and the feeling of something removing his sneakers. Lips brush against his forehead and a hand runs through his hair. "Go back to sleep," Tony soothes. "You're okay."

Peter believes that.

He sleeps through the whole night.

000o000

Thanksgiving passes far too quickly. It's not just the dread-clock counting down in the corner of his mind, always so careful to let him know when the next time he has to be trapped with Matt and May is, but the fact that Peter is...well…

Maybe not happy.

Probably not.

Just. Um. Better. A little less dead? He doesn't know. Seen. He's seen. The Avengers are loud and eat a lot more food that Peter ever thought them capable of, but Peter feels comfortable despite it. Yeah he still flinches if someone moves too quickly or there's a loud slapping noise, but his spider sense has quieted.

Tony and Pepper both give him a hug and say goodnight every night. Tony waits until Peter is laying down and actually going to sleep before he leaves. It's...it's weird, but something Peter didn't realize he wanted. Tony and Pepper are so attentive of him. They're...they see him. Peter can't stop staring at them like he doesn't know who they are.

Morgan gets the same treatment, even though she spends the whole vacation ignoring her own bed and sleeping next to him. Her small body curled up against his own provides a warmth he adores. She's an angel hidden beneath chocolate hair and big eyes.

He's startled when Tony asks for his input on takeout and even more surprised when alcohol is not brought out into the celebration on Thanksgiving. None of the adults drink this year, and it's...he doesn't really understand. Getting drunk is kind of what adults do, isn't it? He's just gotten used to the fact that his guardians will be drunker than Jack Sparrow on the weekends.

And even though he and MJ are keeping up a running commentary about dinner, when she texts him to complain about something that starts with mom and dad, his first thought is not of his own parents, blessed their passed souls may be. It's definitely not of May and Matt. He sees the words mom and dad and the first thing he thinks of is Pepper and Tony.

000o000

He goes home. He cries when he gets there and the crushing weight settles on him again. His spider sense blares dully. The terrible smells. Matt and May are there, but neither acknowledge him even though he walks past them three times.

Tony and Pepper tell him that they'll be in New York for Christmas, and it's all Peter can do not to beg them to let him stay with them.

It's not that bad.

It's really not.

(It is so much worse.)

000o000

Matt is furious about him taking time off without asking, and puts him on a double shift for every weekend until the year is over. (2023 is almost over. It's nearly 2024 and Peter can't remember half a decade because he was dead.

He wishes he'd stayed that way.

He wishes that a lot.)

Matt hits him hard enough that Peter's face is still bruised, but it's not really an uncommon practice. He usually only slaps Peter around a little bit where it won't be seen if Peter's careful, but the face bruises are worse. Peter's healing factor kind of sucks. It's not like Thor's. Sometimes he thinks Thor could regrow a limb, but then remembers the missing eye. But that's beside the point.

The point is that Peter's healing factor is like a moody teenager. Sometimes, when it feels up to the task, Peter could recover from a handful of bullet wounds overnight. Other times, it drags out a papercut for three or four days. (And yeah, he knows that normal humans need, like, at least a week, but bullet wounds. Overnight. Verses a papercut.)

So he shows up bruised to school sometimes.

And that's fine.

He gets some strange looks, but it's not like he's dying or anything. Peter just keeps his head down and ignores Ned and MJ's inquisitive looks. They think that he's doing Spider-Man so subtly the news isn't catching a whiff. Peter hasn't seen the suit since October.

He really misses it.

Spider-Man was…

Was.

That's the problem. Spider-Man was, and Peter is still stuck here.

Peter's locker door slams shut with a clang. He flinches, jolting back a step and resists his first instinct which is to leap onto the ceiling and hang there until the threat has passed. He blinks, blowing out a breath and his gaze slowly settles on Flash.

Dread sinks to his toes.

"Parker." Flash greets coolly. "We need to talk."

Peter has done a pretty admirable job ignoring his bully the last month or so, he thinks. Between work, lack of sleep, and school, he hasn't really had time to be bothered by Flash. He also needs to get to English so that way he can get that done and make his way to work so he won't be late and give Matt another reason to be annoyed with him.

(Sometimes Peter wonders if Tony would have noticed how ragged he's run down all the time if he lived in New York. They really only communicate via phone and text messages now. Sometimes facetime, but not often. Peter really misses him, too.)

He doesn't want to go to work.

He doesn't want to go to work so much that it makes him physically ill.

"Can't image what about." Peter mumbles, and then braces himself. He pulls his gaze up, even if he'd much rather leave it on the ground where it won't get him into trouble. "I don't have time today, okay? Bother me tomorrow. Next week. But I have to get this project done."

Flash's expression flickers with what looks like honest confusion. "Why would…?"

Peter blinks. Tired eyes refuse to settle and he wonders for a moment if he's hallucinating. "Go away. Please." He dumps his books into his backpack and wrestles with the zipper for far longer than he cares to admit. When he manages to get it sort of closed, he swings it over his shoulder and then nearly topples at the sudden change in weight distribution.

Flash's eyes narrow. "No. Not about that. About something else."

"Are we doing a group project?" Peter questions carefully. "I don't remember being assigned to you." He begins to move away, knowing from past experience that if he can get enough distance between himself and Flash that the teen will leave him alone.

Flash grabs his arm.

Peter flinches. He blinks and breathes a little and then suddenly Flash is on his knees in front of Peter, eyes wide with pain. Peter is bending his fingers back from his wrist in a classic move of self defense. If he wanted, he could break every one of Flash's fingers with a single move.

The thought makes him sick,

"Oh, gosh," Peter releases him, feeling some energy seep into his bones. He hasn't been Spider-Man in months, but the instincts are still there. "Flash, I'm sorry, I hadn't...you were and then—" he releases Flash and takes a step back, feeling disgusted.

Flash lifts up his hands, but grimaces, rubbing at his left one's forearm. "It's okay. Calm down. I'm not going to hurt you."

Peter hates how skeptical he feels about that. Everyone wants to hurt him now.

Flash's dark eyes are angry. "That's...actually kind of what I wanted to talk to you about." Without a word of warning or even the slightest hint at sublty, Flash drops, if quietly, "Who's beating you up?"

Peter stills. "I…"

"Because I can deal with them." Flash continues. At Peter's furrowed expression, he grits out between his teeth, "Listen. Ever since Spider-Man dropped off the map, I've...you know. Been trying to be more like him. I figure if he can't look out for the little guy, someone's gotta do it, right? And you're definitely a little guy."

Peter doesn't know whether to be amazed or offended.

Instead he settles on staring at Flash with wide, unbelieving eyes.

Flash's expression flickers for a moment before he reaches out and rests a hand on Peter's shoulder. The action makes both of them uncomfortable. "Just let me know, alright? And I'll deal with them."

When Peter gets home, he laughs and laughs and laughs.

It's funny in the way that makes you sick.

Because no one can deal with Matt. No one can fix his issues with May. Peter's stuck in this looping hole forever, and there's nowhere to go but down from here. Peter sincerely hopes that he's dead before he hits the bottom. That. That would be a relief. No more work. No more school. No more nothing.

He's so dizzy.

He doesn't feel right.

He can't tell if he's facing up anymore. Maybe it doesn't matter.

000o000

Peter's panicking and he can't breathe. The nightmare is making his skin both itchy and sweaty and he can't breathe. He dreamt about the Soul Stone. About wandering through the water and being unable to find his way out as he screamed himself hoarse for help. He dreamt about the building collapse, and Toomes burying him so deep that he's crushed to death.

He can't breathe.

Peter's shaky and is running off of four hours of sleep for three days and he thinks this is what makes him attempt it. He hobbles out of bed, barely withholding an anxiety attack and makes his way down the hall towards Matt and May's bedroom.

The two of them are sound asleep, resting side by side and expressions smoothed out. It's Sunday morning, and even though they should both have hangovers, May didn't drink last night. And he doesn't think the week before that, either, but he was too busy at work.

(He loathes that job. He hopes the whole factory burns down.)

(He needs Spider-Man.)

Peter shuffles forward and grips at May's arm. He shakes her, other hand raised to his lips to quiet his breathing. The clock on the bedside table reveals it's a little past four in the morning. May sits up groggily, hair falling in front of her face.

"Matt?" she questions. "What's the problem?"

"May." Peter chokes. His voice is muffled beneath his hand. "I…"

"Oh, Peter." May says and Matt sits up on her other side and scowls at him. "What's the problem, baby?"

"Go back to sleep, Peter." Matt grumbles, obviously experiencing a brutal hangover. Peter is so very tempted to scream, just to make him flinch. To make him hurt. But he's Spider-Man, and he's better than that. "It was just a dream."

"May." Peter begs, desperate. He needs her. Wants her to hold him like Ben used to and stroke his hair until he falls asleep. It's stupid, he knows, but God alone knows how much he still wants it.

May's shaking her head, hand on her stomach. "Baby, he's right. You're almost seventeen. Just go back to sleep, it's okay."

He can't. He can't. It's so dark and please Mr. Stark, I don't wanna go—Peter tastes the rejection and turns, shuffling out of the room. He paces for the better part of an hour in his room, but still can't calm down and calls Tony. The two of them talk quietly well into the morning.

Peter doesn't go back to sleep that night, but he's warm without being bundled in six layers of clothing.

000o000

It all kind of comes to a crashing halt the day before Christmas break. Peter has said as little as possible about the situation with Matt. People seem to think that he's living in some sort of Cloud Nine and he doesn't have the energy to correct them. His life is terrible.

(It's not. He's just ungrateful.

At least he has two parents.)

But Peter really didn't mean to. Let it slip, that is. He didn't. It just happened. He was just. It. Ugh. It was lunch, because all the bad things seem to happen at lunch or in the halls at school. It's like some sort of curse. Maybe it's just him. He doesn't know. Anyway.

They're talking, and Peter doesn't even know how they get onto the topic of parents, but Peter blurts out, "I wish I had a different set," and then, boom. It all goes down from there.

Ned goes still. The kind of rigid that's both murderous and pained all at once. The plastic fork snaps in his grip and he turns to Peter slowly. "You…" he says. "Are you freaking kidding me, Peter? Are you even…"

Peter stopped talking. Thankfully. He does know when to shut up when he needs to.

"How can you be so ungrateful!? They're your parents, Peter! Family!"

Why does everyone assume that means that you have to love them? Is it okay that he has mixed feelings about Matt and May, or does he have to idolize them all the time? Does that stupid streak of DNA really mean so much?

"But I still don't—" Peter starts. The bruises on his bicep from where Matt grabbed him this morning are aching. The ones on his hip from when Matt "accidentally" bumped him into the table are still a mess of green yellow skin.

"At least you HAVE a dad!" Ned all but screams and slams his hand down on the table. "You lost nothing in the Snap. You don't understand. You don't get any of this. You don't get what it's like to have your life uprooted in the blink of an eye."

Peter's jaw is sliding open.

Because.

Ned.

Just.

Ned just assumes that? Has he...has he even been listening to Peter these last few months. Been paying attention?

(IS PETER EVEN REAL!?

WHY DOES NO ONE SEE HIM!?)

"Are you kidding?" Peter's voice is low. "You have been nothing but a sad lumpy mass the past few months. You have had all the time in the world to grieve the world we had. I haven't. Has it ever occurred to you that you're not the only one who might be sad? I'm tired of being the pianist to your pity party."

Ned's jaw clenches. His eyes are wet. He looks…

Angry.

Moments from bursting.

Ned jerks to his feet, fists clenched. Peter eyes them warily, but his spider sense remains calm in the back of his head. Silent. It seems at a disbelief that Ned would ever hurt him, but Peter has to be sure. "I noticed you don't put effort into your appearance lately." Ned says softly. "You must not be looking in mirrors. That's good. You don't have to stare a hopeless case in the face every day."

Peter flinches.

I was thinking I could just...be myself?

Peter, nobody wants that.

"Try to remember that not all of us got our family back," Ned is so calm. That's what makes it worse. Peter yelled at him, and Ned is just...even. "You could be a little more grateful that God keeps giving you chance after chance with parents. I only got one, and I blew it. Goodbye, Peter."

Ned stands up. He walks away from the table. Peter looks at MJ helplessly, but she's already closing her book and moving after their friend. MJ doesn't like playing mediator. She doesn't like fighting. Peter buries his head into his hands and tries not to cry. He blew it. He really blew it.

000o000

His Spanish teacher proclaims that they're going to have a one-on-one conversation with la maestra after winter break and Peter panics. Learning a language is hard. Really hard, and the American public school system makes it a lot harder than it needs to be. Ask Peter to write out a sentence in Spanish and he could do it. How to conjugate words, no problemo, but speaking? He's terrible. His comprehension is squat and he couldn't hold a conversation with a native speaker to save his life.

Or anyone else's.

But…

That's…

Yeah.

Peter's always been a good student. The material at school has always been easy (the assignments less so much), and he's never really...struggled. If his grades dropped, it was because he wasn't making it to class. Not that he didn't understand. But still. Um. He's never really had the option of being...stupid before. Like. Okay, not stupid. Just...not understanding. People expect him to get it first try with no problems.

He can't...struggle.

And he…

Spanish.

Spanish. He who said that Spanish is the easiest language for native English speakers to learn has clearly not met the American public school system. But anyway. Peter's sitting at the dinner table. Matt and May are across from him.

They're eating meatloaf.

"I need help." Peter says quietly, and May's gaze flicks from her and Matt's all engaging conversation about politics, and tilts her head a little. "I need…" Peter repeats. "With school. I need one of you to pretend to speak Spanish so I can practice."

May's frowning. "When?"

"Before Christmas break is over."

He needs to apologize to Ned. He didn't get the chance before school ended. He needs to talk to MJ, and probably apologize to her, too.

"Oh," May's lips turn down. "I can't, I'm sorry, Peter. I took some double shifts at the clinic."

Matt sighs, "I'm busy, too."

"But I need…" Peter starts desperately. Tears burn the edges of his eyes. May sighs and reaches out to grip his hand.

"Later, Peter." She says absently. Peter gets up. He cleans off his plate and goes to his room, closing the door behind him and just...collapses. But he doesn't need May in the future. He needs her now.

He can hear them in the kitchen. Getting food. Eating. Why is everyone always eating? They're always chewing. Or making noise. They're never quiet and it— Peter stifles a panicked hiccup, slamming his hand over his mouth. His fingers do little to block the noise and it croaks from his throat like a comically loud squeaking noise.

Breath cramps in his stomach.

Peter holds the phone close to his chest, and tries to breathe. He doesn't really succeed.

May never comes.

He can hear it in his head. A small voice whirring and whirring.

Got vertigo. Got vertigo. Got vertigo.

Someone help me! I can't tell what way is up!

000o000

Peter tries to apologize to Ned. He calls. Texts. Emails. Everything. Nothing works. Ned has gone MIA from Peter's life. MJ texts him back, but she's obviously still unhappy with them. Peter feels his circle of support getting smaller.

May is pregnant. She announces this to them on December twenty-third as they're sitting in the living room. Well. Peter is standing, having been pulled out by May for the occasion. His entire chest seizes, and he thinks ever organ system that functions within his body has forgotten how to run smoothly.

Got vertigo. Got vertigo. Got vertigo.

May is…

A baby. A new child. A child that both of them wanted.

Matt's entire face lights up and he grabs May around the waist and swings her around like she's just revealed the greatest news of his life. "Our kid?" he breathes. "You…" he looks at her stomach and rests a hand there. May lets her hands pile on top of his.

"Our kid." May assures. Her eyes are bright. She lifts up a picture of an ultrasound and Matt takes it with careful hands.

"Oh my gosh." He breathes. "We have a kid."

Peter blinks. His entire body isn't working. He can't even think right. He's panicking, somewhere distant, because May is pregnant. Matt and May have a kid they actually want. M&M paradise is about to find the proper third member. He has no idea what this means for him. He's not even seventeen. He can't move out on his own.

He doesn't know what…

Where…

He doesn't know what this means.

It frightens him.

000o000

He's grounded from his phone again, so Peter has no way of communicating with anyone when Matt meets him on the staircase. Peter has just finished taking out the trash and is working his way back up to the apartment when he sees him there. Matt's arms are folded across his chest, and his narrowed, angry expression is all that Peter can focus on.

There's no one else in the hall.

Or even really around.

It's just them.

Peter climbs the steps warily. "Do you need something?" he asks.

Matt snorts. "You out of our lives. I've tried to be subtle. To get you to leave on your own, but your like a stupid parasite. I don't want you here, Peter. No one wants you here. When are you going to get that?"

Peter makes a noise. "I can't...you're...May's my guardian."

"She doesn't have to be. She never wanted to be. You know that she told me she felt guilty you were dead? Yeah? Because she never wanted to be your mom and now we have our actual kid to worry about and I don't want you to come back here. It's my house."

Got vertigo. Got vertigo. Got vertigo.

Peter doesn't feel right.

"M&M paradise." Peter mutters under his breath. Inwardly, he's panicking, every alarm bell is whistling and screaming at him to do something. Matt's not going to let him come back. What does he do? What does he do? WHAT DOES HE DO?

Matt stills. "What did you just say?"

Peter lifts his chin a little. "M&M paradise." He repeats, throwing as much sarcasm as he can into the words. "I feel sorry for your kid."

Peter really thinks that Matt didn't intend to actually harm him. Matt's only shoved him around a little and hit him on occasion, but this...is something else. Matt's temper is a flaring fire that goes off randomly and violent. It's never good. But. Yeah.

Matt shoves him.

Peter goes toppling down the stairs and feels very distinctly when his right forearm snaps along the way. He lays there at the bottom for a long moment, bruised, battered and his vision spinning. He can't tell what direction he's facing. He thinks he could be floating or standing, but the former is more likely.

Someone makes a noise above him—Matt—and Peter's primal instincts finally snap. Peter hobbles up to his feet and books it out of the building. He doesn't stop running. Not for a long, long time.

000o000

Peter's standing in a Walmart. His socks are wet, his jacket soaked through, and he can feel nothing beyond the warmth of his chest, but even that is weak in the face of everything. The store is mostly empty save employees. It's Christmas. People are home with their families.

They're home.

They have one.

Peter's arm is burning, but it's a numb sort of pain that doesn't really register with his brain. Dull. Pointless. He stumbles towards one of the employees, knowing that he must look like he stared death in the face or was mugged, maybe both, but he can't get himself to care. He wants to scream.

"S-sir," Peter's voice is strangled. His lip trembles. He thinks he's crying. "Sir, do you have a phone I can use?"

The employee, his name tag reads BRYSON in big, bold letters, looks him up and down. His expression is almost unreadable save the slight twitch of his lip.

Peter thinks he might start sobbing.

"I can't pay you. I don't have money." Peter continues, "But I need to call...I need to call my dad."

It's a lie, but it isn't. A half truth that Peter desperately wishes was completely honest. He doesn't want to go home. He wishes that Tony's house was home. He doesn't want to face May and Matt again. He can't look at their happy faces and know that there isn't a place for him in between their romance.

Their child.

"Please." Peter begs.

Bryson breaks from his stare and blinks several times, nodding. His expression has gone soft, the hard edges of it smoothing away. His dark eyebrows lower and he fishes his phone from his pocket. "You can use mine. Just call where I can see you?"

"I won't walk off with it." Peter swears, and takes the phone with a shaking, red hand. Tears flow down his cheeks and he inhales snot sharply. "Thank you." He breathes, "Thank you." He enters in Tony's number, branded into his memory, and hits call. He prays to whatever deity listening that Tony will pick up the random number because it called his private phone.

Only a few people have that number.

The phone rings.

And rings.

Ring, ring, ring.

It goes to messages, and Peter tries not to release the choked sob or scream as he awkwardly re-dials the number with one hand. He has to try one more time before Tony's annoyed, if disgruntled, voice states flatly, "You shouldn't have this number, but you obviously think that whatever you have to say to have called three times and I swear—"

"Tony." Peter interrupts.

"Peter." All annoyance is gone, leaving behind traces of concern. "Peter, what are you doing? Why aren't you calling from your phone?"

"C-can you pick...pick me up?" Peter's voice drops, "I don't…I don't want to impose, and I know that it's Christmas, but...but my arm…and May…I don't know where I am."

Tony's voice is steady when he asks, "Why aren't you at M&M's?"

He chokes. His arm burns beneath the memory. "I...they...May's pregnant." He bursts out. "She hates me Tony, and she said that I have to—to—and they...please just get me out of here." He breathes. "Please, Tony. I'll do anything. I don't even care anymore, please, I can't go back. I know it's stupid, but I can't go back because my grades are slipping from having to work so many odd hours and I can't ask and they're so m-m-mad and I just...I just wanted...I'm sorry. I should have waited until tomorrow—"

"Peter." Tony's voice is impossible to read. "Peter, listen. Take in a deep breath, okay? Friday found your location, kid. I'm on my way."

"I don't want to impose—"

"You're not." Tony interrupts. "Don't stress about it."

Tony might as well have told him not to breathe.

"I'll be there in about half an hour. Are you going to be okay until then?" Tony's voice is quiet. "I'd give you to Nat to talk to, but it's not your phone, so I'm assuming that you can't keep speaking."

Peter shakes his head before remembering that Tony can't see him. "No." His voice is small. "No, I can't. Tony, I don't…"

"I know." Tony's voice is quiet. "I know kid. Hang tight, alright? We'll talk more when I get there."

"Thank you." Peter says, softer. Tony gives a conformational noise, and then hangs up. Peter stares at the screen reading the length of their conversation longingly before he returns to Bryson and hands him back his phone. "Thank you."

Bryson nods. "You're welcome. You get ahold of him?"

"Yeah, but he won't be here for half an hour." Peter mumbles. "Can I wait in here? It's cold outside and I…"

Bryson smiles a little. "Yeah. That's fine. You look a little beat up, so probably for the best."

He flinches. Peter thinks his lips were trying to form a simper, but all he gets is a grimace. "Thank you."

The half hour passes slowly, but swiftly. It's weird. He hates it when time does that paradox thing where it both drags and passes the speed of light all at once. Peter wanders through the store, down the toy aisles and up through the grocery section, eyeing the food longingly. He passes the electronics, bedding, clothing, and shoes, wondering how anyone has time to stock a store this big. Where do they even get everything?

When he's gone through most of the store, he returns to the front and glances to the clock. It's been the better part of thirty five minutes since he called, so he wishes Bryson and the other miserable employees a mumbled "Merry Christmas" before slipping back outside. The cold weather feels like a punch to the gut and his tired, exhausted body gives a very strong whine of protest.

Yeah, well, there isn't exactly a surplus of things he can do about it at the moment.

He can't see any of Tony's cars. He's not coming, a voice that sounds deceptively like Matt's whispers. Why would he come for you? Peter tries to shake it off, but time wanes and he feels the smallest bit of panic begin to churn in his gut. A very small, insignificant amount.

Peter's hands are trembling and his breath is hard and fast. He doesn't know if he can keep standing because his legs feel weak. His toes are numb.

Tony's not…

Tony can't have left him here.

Peter doesn't know if he can get back to Matt and May's apartment building. Not on these feet. He should start walking, though, because he might make it back before morning and he'll only be greeting hypothermia with a wide grin if he doesn't move. Movement creates heat. Heat defends against frost bite. Peter doesn't really want any of his limbs to get amputated.

Miserable, cold, and starving, Peter begins to track down the sidewalk of the parking lot. He tucks his hands into his pockets and lets his hood hang over his head. The snow is still tickling his eyelashes and the tips of his hair. He's cold. He wants to collapse onto his knees and give up. To sit there and let himself become a frozen spidersical.

Then he'd be six feet underground and no longer an inconvenience to a love story that booted him out the front door.

Headlights flare behind him and Peter's heart does a funny leap of anticipation and hope as he twists around, looking back at the familiar black paint of Tony's car. The license plate only confirms this and Peter's stomach releases the tension so suddenly that he nearly collapses. The window rolls down and Peter hears the locks unclick.

Tony is seated in the driver's seat, bundled up in a light coat. His fingers are gloved and he's wearing a pair of tinted sunglasses that throw Peter for a moment before he remembers that Friday exists inside of them.

"Hey." Tony says, expression furrowing the slightest bit. "You look terrible. Get in."

Peter nods and reaches for the door without thinking only letting out a sharp hiss of pain when a jolt of pain shoots up through his arm. He snaps his hand back against his chest and reaches with his left instead, biting back tears of frustration and pain. He opens the door and slips into the passenger seat, warmth exploding across his body. Tony rolls up the window and taps his fingers against the wheel for a moment.

"Seatbelt."

Peter obeys.

"Cold?"

Peter nods. He wants to talk, but he thinks if he opens his mouth he's only going to cry.

"I have a blanket in the back. I also brought a spare coat." Peter twists around to grab at the blanket, pulling it around his shoulders and burying himself beneath the warm fleece. He hides his arm against his chest, but Tony's eyeing him critically and notices the motion.

"What's wrong with your hand?"

Peter flinches, his eyes squeezing shut. He exhales stiffly, trying to breathe. All that comes out is a panicked rattle, and he looks up at the man helplessly for a moment, a strangled sort of squeak building up in his throat.

Tony immediately moves to rest a hand on his shoulder. "Hey, Pete. Calm down. It's okay. We're okay, alright, keep breathing…" his words blur into nonsense, but Peter can't seem to stop. He opens his mouth to explain, but scarcely gets a syllable out before he breaks.

In between sobs, panicked screeches and rocking, Peter manages to explain. He doesn't know what he says, but knows very distinctly when Tony goes very, very still and concludes that something regarding Matt must have slipped out.

Tony suddenly grips both his shoulders and waits until Peter is looking at him before he asks. "Peter, I need to you be honest with me. Did Matt hurt you?"

Peter starts to shake his head, denial immediately tipping on the edge of his tongue, but he sees the concern in Tony's eyes, remembers how the multi-billionaire drove out—on Christmas—to come help him, and he can't. He gives a slight nod, looking away, ashamed.

He peaks up at Tony through the corner of his eye, and sees as the man's entire face clenches with anger or agony, perhaps both. The moment passes, and he leans forward and wraps Peter in a desperate hug. "You're coming home with me, alright? And this time it's going to be permanent. I'll call in the lawyers. I don't care who Matt is, he's going to prison for the rest of his existence for thinking of touching my son."

Son.

Son.

That...Peter likes the sound of that. He'll drop Parker if it means he takes Stark on instead. Peter allows himself to sink into the hug. Allows himself to let Tony take care of him. He's crying and grips Tony's shirt. "Okay." He breathes out. "Please, Dad, please don't make me go back."

"No ones taking you back." Tony promises. "Just breathe, Pete. Okay? Breathe for me. We'll get you to the ER to get the arm checked out and then we can go home. Does that sound okay?"

"Yeah." Peter agrees, but lets himself hang there.

He can hear it in his head. A small voice whirring and whirring.

Got vertigo. Got vertigo. Got vertigo.

Someone help me! I can't tell what way is up!

And softer still is Tony's voice against his head, and Peter knows that if he can reach it, he'll be okay. And he just needs to keep pushing up, because Tony's already grabbed his wrists and is helping him through the disorienting blizzard.

Peter's going to be okay.