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October was never a good month for Peter, emotionally.
Ben had died three years ago; the anniversary was always painful and emotional. Peter had cried himself to sleep nightly in the days leading up to the day Ben died. May let him stay home from school on the anniversary.
They cried together on the couch, watching some of the videos May had saved on her phone. When May fell asleep, Peter covered her with a blanket and retreated to his room.
He hadn’t told Mr. Stark why he was more moody and emotional than usual. He didn’t want to have to have that conversation.
Two days after the anniversary, Peter was at the Avenger’s tower to visit Mr. Stark for their weekly lab days. His mood was already shaky; he had forgotten about a big English project and had to go to class empty-handed. Mrs. Walker had scolded him after class and had only agreed to let him turn it in late after Peter begged her.
So instead of working on his suit, Peter was staring at a blank Word document on his computer, willing inspiration to strike him.
“Whatcha working on, kid?” Mr. Stark asked from across the room. “It’s got you much quieter than normal.”
“Just a stupid English paper,” Peter mumbled. “I need to get it done. It’s already late.”
“Pete, you can’t let Spider-Man get in the way —“
“It’s not getting in the way! I just forgot about it,” Peter said crossly. “I don’t need you up my ass about school.”
He dug in his backpack for his headphones, missing the incredulous look Mr. Stark gave him at his snappy comment.
His head snapped up when he heard his laptop being shut. Mr. Stark was standing above him, hand still resting on the top of his computer.
“What—“ Peter started.
“Go take a nap,” Mr. Stark said, his voice calm but his irritation clear.
“I’m not a baby, I’m not taking a nap,” Peter snapped, trying to pry his laptop out from Mr. Stark’s hands.
“You’re clearly tired and crabby, go take a nap, Peter. I’ll come get you when dinner is ready.”
There clearly was no arguing with him. Peter huffed and grabbed his phone and headphones before stalking out of the lab, slamming the door behind him just to show his irritation.
He was crabby, there was no denying that. His emotions were on the fritz and he felt moments from tears at all times. The forgotten English project wasn’t helping. But neither was Mr. Stark treating him like a child. Again.
He didn’t mind the childish nicknames Mr. Stark made up for him. Spider-Baby, Underoos, bambino, kiddo, Spider-Boy; he’d even called him sweetheart once, though Peter suspected that might have been an accident.
Mr. Stark has nicknames for everyone, and most weren’t flattering. Peter could tell his came from a fondness, not said with any malice or hostility behind them.
But telling him to take a nap crossed a line. He wasn’t a baby. He didn’t need a nap.
He laid down in bed anyways, fully prepared to spend his time scrolling through social media on his phone. He needed time to listen to Taylor Swift’s new album anyways.
Peter started the album, letting the first notes of “Lavender Haze” float into his ears.
He was enjoying the album until a minute into “Karma,” when one of the lyrics caused his brain to short circuit slightly.
“Spider-boy, king of thieves, weave your little webs of opacity.”
Peter’s eyes shot open.
Even Taylor Swift was calling him a child. The moment the thought crossed his mind, he felt ashamed of himself. It was a metaphor. She wasn’t literally calling him a child.
But he couldn’t move on from “Karma.” He found himself listening to it over and over again. He had loved the song at first; it was catchy and had started off as another excellent addition to the album.
If even Taylor Swift — who he obviously had never met — saw him as a child, who else did? Did the people of New York secretly think he acted like a whiny teenager? Did the other Avengers? What if they all hated him and were only putting up with him because of Tony? He knew Tony thought of him as an immature child. He’d shown him that much after the ferry incident. And every time he called him “kid.” Or ruffled his hair. The other Avengers did pick up on Tony’s Spider-kid nickname quickly.
Peter didn’t want to be seen as the crybaby or tattletale — he already was by far the youngest, he didn’t need to make it more obvious — so he laughed along with them. But what if it was more than a joke? What if it wasn’t playfulness, as he’d thought, but a thinly veiled insult?
Just as he was working himself into a downward spiral of a panic attack, Peter’s phone buzzed. He glanced down at it to see a text from Sam that simply said, “dinner.”
Sam was in charge of dinner at the tower that night, something he had complained about the entire day. He said because he was only visiting, he shouldn’t have to be put into the cooking rotation. Tony had told Sam he could go home if he didn’t like it, which shut the man up quickly.
Peter had been looking forward to dinner earlier. Whatever he was making had smelled good as the scent of garlic and oregano wafted from the kitchen into Peter’s room.
Now, he wanted nothing more than to go home to May. At least he knew she didn’t see him as an incapable child. He knew that would only make Tony suspicious, though. His mentor would hunt him down and make him talk about his feelings. And he did NOT want to do that.
So he joined the group of Avengers hanging in the kitchen.
Someone had set the table with wine at every seat except Tony and Peter’s. Tony had a glass of Mountain Dew, his caffeine of choice when coffee alone wasn’t enough. Peter had a glass of something that, at first glance, appeared to be wine. He sniffed it surreptitiously and his face reddened almost immediately.
Grape juice. They had given him grape juice. Peter heard snickers from across the room and saw Clint and Sam hiding their giggles behind their hands. He looked away quickly, his face burning with shame.
“Got enough juice, Spider-baby?” Sam asked after they all sat down.
“Yes sir,” Peter mumbled, refusing to look up at any of them.
He knew he would see them smirking and he didn’t know if he could keep it together through that. His eyes burned with tears. Had he not proven himself as Spider-Man? Was it really necessary for some of the Avengers to mercilessly tease him about his age?
“Do you need someone to feed you?” Clint snickered when Peter still hadn't picked up his fork as all the rest of them began eating.
“We can get you a bib!” Sam added.
Peter looked to Tony, hoping he would say something, or tell the pair to knock it off. But he was absorbed in his phone.
Instead, eyes burning with tears, he started shoveling spaghetti into his mouth as fast as he could. He needed to get out of there.
He reached toward the center of the table to grab another piece of garlic bread and accidentally knocked his glass over, spilling dark red grape juice all across the table.
Peter stiffened as every eye in the room turned to him. His lower lip trembled slightly.
“I think he might need a sippy cup,” Clint whispered loudly, breaking the silence.
Peter burst into tears and fled from the room, leaving his half-full plate at the table. He couldn’t be there anymore.
“What the hell, guys?” Tony growled, throwing his own fork down.
“It was a joke!” Sam protested, but Tony muttered some choice curse words to himself before following Peter out of the room.
Peter had already slammed his bedroom door shut and locked it when he heard Tony’s footsteps approaching.
He collapsed on his bed, sobbing, barely able to draw a full breath. Tony knocked softly.
“Pete? You wanna talk about what just happened?”
Peter cried into his pillow, ignoring Tony. He didn’t want to talk to him. He didn’t want to talk to anyone.
“C’mon, kiddo. They were just teasing you. They don’t mean it.”
Peter still didn’t answer. He knew it was a joke. He knew they were teasing. That didn’t make it any better, especially since his anxiety had done a great job of convincing himself that he was a worthless child who didn’t deserve to associate with the Avengers.
“Can we talk through the door? Please, kid, I just need to know you’re OK.”
“You can let him in, FRIDAY,” Peter sniffled, just loud enough so Tony could barely hear him through the door.
The door clicked open and he heard Tony’s footsteps come closer. He didn’t pick up his head or turn to look at Tony until he felt a gentle hand on his shoulder, which set off a new wave of tears.
“You didn’t say anything,” Peter sobbed. “They , they kept saying it and you didn’t say anything. And they, they think I’m a stupid kid and can’t be an Avenger and—and—and even Taylor Swift thinks I’m a dumb baby and just a stupid Spider-Boy. Not even Spider-Man. No one thinks I’m Spider-Man. You even called me Spider-Boy the first time we met.”
He could sense Tony’s stunned silence behind him.
“I—kid—Peter—I didn’t know the nicknames bothered you so much. I can tell them to stop. I’ll stop.”
“I don’t mind when you do it,” Peter sniffled, finally turning to face Tony. He knew his eyes were probably red and puffy, but he didn’t care. He couldn’t possibly act any more childish than he already had. “B-because I know it’s not mean. Well it might have been the first time. I don’t know. And I’m sure Taylor Swift isn’t being mean. I don’t know her. But it-It feels mean. It felt mean today.”
“Who is Taylor Swift? Is this someone from school?”
“Tony you know who Taylor Swift is,” Peter sobbed, letting out a small laugh. “She’s a singer. I made you listen to all her albums.”
He sat up in bed, instead leaning into Tony, not even trying to be subtle as he inhaled his familiar, comforting scent, and pressed his head to his chest. He closed his eyes as Tony started to run his fingers through his hair.
“She has a new song. A new album. But one of them she mentions me. Spider-Man, I mean. But she calls him Spider-Boy. And it’s stupid. It’s so stupid. I shouldn’t care. But Ben died and you made me go take a nap and I’m not a little kid who needs naps and then Sam and Clint wouldn’t stop making kid jokes and—and I just couldn’t, I just couldn’t take it. I’m just so tired. And I want Ben,” Peter wailed, bursting into tears again.
“Oh, underoos, this is about Ben?”
“No,” Peter whimpered. “Not really. But the anniversary was just last week and I miss him so much and it’s all just been too much.”
“What’s been too much?”
“Everything. Everything has been too much. It’s all too much. And I’m not a baby.”
“No, you’re not a baby. But you are a teenager and you shouldn’t have to bottle all this up. Have you talked to your aunt about this?”
“She always cries when I bring up Ben. We don’t talk about it. I don’t want to make her cry. She cries, I cry, then we’re both crying and I don’t want that to happen.”
“So you’d rather let it build up until you explode at dinner one night?”
“Don’t act like you’ve never done that before,” Peter huffed. “You didn’t use to be all ‘in touch with your feelings’ and shit. You just drank. So really bottling it up is pretty healthy compared to that.”
“Touche. I’ve learned a lot since then. And I want to help you not make the same mistakes I did,” Tony said.
Peter scrubbed at his eyes with the back of his hand. He was sick of crying, sick of spiraling.
“I think I do need to talk to someone,” he admitted quietly. “But not May.”
“We can get you set up with a therapist, how does that sound?”
Peter wrinkled his nose.
“I hate talking about my feelings,” he muttered. “But OK. I did cry over Taylor Swift calling me a kid tonight. Maybe I need it.”
“Everyone could benefit from therapy, underoos. Doesn’t mean there’s anything wrong with you.”
“Not a man though. I don’t want to see a man. It has to be a woman.”
“We can do that. I already have a list of superhero-approved people you can go through. But how about for now we go eat some more garlic bread and pasta?”
Peter hesitated. “I don’t want to see them tonight,” he said softly. “I know they were teasing but they hurt my feelings. I think I need some time away from them.”
“How about I grab Pepper and we can have our own private dinner on our floor? Does that sound good?”
Peter nodded.
“But only if we can watch Star Wars too. And only if you steal all the rest of the garlic bread. I think I deserve it.”
Tony laughed. “That you do, Pete. I think I can work some magic and guilt Sam into giving up his leftovers. Get comfy and I’ll go get Pep and the food.”
He ruffled Peter’s hair, kissed him on the forehead and got up.
“Bring all your blankets out too. I think we’ll need them.”
Peter missed Ben with all his heart, but he was so lucky to have Tony, he thought as the door shut behind his mentor.