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[Yeah no, not remotely convincing. But Little Pete sucks at being convincing, too. So it's okay.]

It's fine, I checked around. It's getting dark enough outside that they'll probably think it was you. [He plops down in the nearest chair, practically swallowed up by the red jacket.] It's how I snuck into my apartment every night back home, so I guess it's kinda second-nature? I could be a pretty awesome spy if I worked on it.

[ Peter holds onto his doubt for another few moments before sighing, shaking his head.

Then, ]

That jacket looks ridiculous on you, by the way.

[ like an eight-year-old playing dress-up in an adult’s clothes. All that’s missing are oversized dress shoes and an inexpertly knotted necktie. ]

Maybe just a little bit... I don't think I pull off leather jackets very well.

[He shrugs sheepishly, but the thought's amusing.]

Better at the whole nerdy sweater aesthetic. And it's, like, way cheaper.

... Unless this isn't real leather. Is it real leather? How do you even tell?

[The eight-year-old playing dress up is looking at the inside flap like that would even remotely tell him if it's real leather or not. The jacket itself is, by the way, surprisingly crisp and clean and bloodless.]

Edited 2018-06-21 22:19 (UTC)

It’s real.

[ Simply, with a shrug. Leather jackets are 100% his thing, and they have been for a long while. Basically the instant he found a good one in the appropriate Ravager Red, he had tossed up the double birds to the standard patchwork jumpsuit and never looked back. Peter cheaps out on a lot of things, but leather jackets are one of the few things he lets himself splurge on.

#aesthetic

Surprisingly, there is a label on the interior that proudly proclaims it’s made of genuine leather. Unsurprisingly, it’s written in a blocky alien language.

His lips part to say something else, but he frowns, looking over the jacket. There was definitely an ugly bloodstain on the lapel at one point. Sorry about your personal bubble, Little Pete, because Peter reaches over to take hold of it, examining it a little more closely.

Then, a little incredulously, ]

Did you— did you get this cleaned?

[Huh? Oh. He looks down at the hand, then nudges himself out of one jacket sleeve so it'll just slide right off to the respective owner.]

Of course, yeah, I mean — it took a while 'cus I didn't wanna screw it up? And I heard that leather is bad in the wash. So I had to web search to make sure I didn't do something stupid because I think other than this one fancy jacket my uncle had, I've never really done laundry with leather involved. But it said hand washing it with cold water was a good way to do it? I don't really know where to get leather conditioner, but the blood came out pretty easy.

[He's just rambling like it's a science project, don't mind him.]

[ He pulls the jacket toward himself once the kid shrugs out of it, examining it a little more closely. (This displaces Groot, naturally, who squawks in protest before sleepily rolling over to flop onto the bed beside Peter’s hip, trying to get back to sleep.)

It... looks good. Better than he expected, actually, and probably cleaner even than the last time Peter had taken care of this himself. ]

You cleaned it? Seriously?

[ He’s caught somewhere between impressed and completely disbelieving.

Not that Peter thinks the kid is lying. It’s such a low stakes thing to bullshit about. ]

You didn’t have to do that. I would’ve taken care of it.

[He shrugs, rubbing the side of his nose.]

No, no, it was good. I mean, I like keeping myself busy. Even before the sensory overload kind of stuff, I was always keeping myself occupied while my uncle and aunt were at work.

[He sags back into the chair, trying not to put his feet up on whatever's closest. The kid sure can perch if he's not thinking about it. But as he talks, his gaze is more solemn, and he glances aside with a knitted brow.]

And — like. I owed one you for taking care of Lanie, because I was getting kind of scared that I'd have to tell someone that their, um, their daughter — [He swallows hard, trying not to think of all the people he'd seen at the end of their ropes, treated so terrible; some of them he recognized from his patrols, and it made his heart beat thickly with dread and concern.] you know. Yeah. I'm just... glad you were there to keep her safe.

Edited 2018-06-22 00:39 (UTC)

[ He drops the jacket in his lap, peering up at Pete as he speaks.

Folks tend to accuse Peter of not taking things very seriously, of not looking at things very critically. He does, though; he just doesn’t make a big production out of it. And he does it now, spotting the obvious discomfort in the kid’s posture, in the way he won’t seem to meet Peter’s gaze. (He thinks again about how fucked up that all was. So many of the people in that chamber were young, were just kids. He’s not sure why those psychopaths decided to start hauling in adults, but they did. They must’ve just been trying to cover their bases. They hardly seemed to know what they were doing in the first place.) ]

You didn’t owe me anything. [ Lightly, genuinely. ] I was gonna look after her no matter what.

And, I mean, even if I did think you owed me – which I didn’t and don’t – you were there to help get us out. That alone would’ve been enough to call it even.

[Ha, that's something Peter is trying to figure out, albeit slowly and with fluctuating success: that he can't just swoop in and save everyone before the worst happens. By the time he came swinging in as Spider-Man, people were beaten, hungry, exhausted, traumatized — and it almost felt like he wasn't actually saving anybody. The damage was already done. But he's fifteen and life is hard to navigate (especially with spider powers), so he doesn't quite settle for 'you can't protect everyone every waking moment'.

He was almost kidnapped, too, and...

A confession punches out of him, almost against his will, as he taps a swinging foot against the leg of his chair.]

... I had a chance to try and follow the kidnappers, and I blew it. I panicked and it could have cost everyone else time to... [He finally looks back at Peter, at how he's still banged up and probably dealing with his own crap. Just like Mr. Stark. He'd complained at him, too, like it was even really their problems, to listen to him fret about things out of anyone's control.] Sorry, it got too serious, huh? I didn't mean for it to get all — whiny.

[ Peter looks almost startled at the way the kid looks and sounds so guilty. And when he starts apologizing, Peter shakes his head. ]

Don't apologize.

[ A pause, as he examines the kid. Then, ]

How old are you, anyway?

[ young, that much he can tell, but he's always been shitty at guessing ages. ]

[He clears his throat a little.]

... Fifteen.

[He’s pretty happy that nobody here knows him before the growth spurt that came with puberty.

And with getting bit by a radioactive spider.]

[ Huh. Peter would've guessed a little older, so it's probably for the best he asked. ]

You know what I was doin' at fifteen?

[ He doesn't wait for an answer, just settles back against his pillows, propped up against the wall. ]

Stealing. Boosting people's credits and IDs. Hot-wiring ships and taking them for joyrides. Running from the cops.

And then there's you. Running around in a weird catsuit and fighting bad guys. Shooting weird, low-budget movies with kids on your off hours.

You're doin' way more at your age than you really need to. You get that, right?

Edited 2018-06-22 08:49 (UTC)

[He looks a little surprised at the list — though he supposes he shouldn't be, now that he really thinks about it. Mercenary stuff, right? Or kinda like one. He's in the presence of a real rebel, this one, doing things Lil' Pete would've only daydreamed out when he was stringy and awkward and marathoned Star Wars movies into the early hours (that last one didn't necessarily change).]

Hey, how dare you. That was totally a big budget film.

[He sits for a moment though. Collecting his thoughts, a little smile pulls at his lips.]

You know what I was doing at fifteen, before all this happened to me?

Studying. Struggling in P.E. Reading. Studying more. Maybe building something out of old radio parts. But then this happened to me, and... Once this kind of thing happens to you, you can't just — be that person anymore.

[He lazily punches a loose hand into his palm.]

You do more, because it's your responsibility to do more.

Edited 2018-06-22 09:19 (UTC)

[ He squints, expression pinching in a sort of exaggerated way. (Though to be fair, almost everything Peter does is exaggerated.) ]

I mean, yeah. I get what you’re driving at, but you are doing more. That’s what I’m trying to say.

Like— [ His gaze wanders a little as he tries to figure out the best way to phrase this. It takes him a few seconds before he finally thinks of something. Then, ]

You ever seen Die Hard?

[ ... Peter was way too young to see that film, considering it was out the last year he was on Earth, but Gramps was never really particular about those movie ratings. ]

[Peter is absolutely about to say, but it's not enough if it's not all I can do or something even more illogical. But then Peter's got him in that 'sitting and waiting for adult supervision' mode where he twiddles his thumbs and expects a life talk.]

... That really old Bruce Willis movie they play during Christmas?

[Yes.]

What?

It’s not that old.

[ ... wait. No. You threw him off his groove, Little Pete, and he huffs out a sharp, annoyed sigh. ]

Forget that.

What I’m trying to say is— so the robbers take over the building, right? And the main bad guy brings in the president of the company and is like, “Give me the codes—” [ He doesn’t even attempt Alan Rickman’s cadence, just kind of uses a generic deep bad guy voice. ] —and the president can’t, so Hans kills him? And meanwhile, Bruce Willis is hiding to one side and hears the whole thing, but he doesn’t do anything to stop the guy from getting killed?

So then Bruce Willis goes off and he gets pissed at himself for not stepping in, because he didn’t want to get caught. And he beats himself up for it. But then he goes on to save the day, all while barefoot and in a tank top.

[ ... Peter is certainly glossing over a lot of plot points, but that’s the basic idea. ]

You see what I’m getting at, here?

[... Peter, Die Hard is three decades old...

And you know, he gets what you're trying for, but he's still gonna be a little shit.]

I'm gonna have early on-set balding?

[ Peter falls silent for a moment.

Beside him on the nightstand is a dual cassette tape deck with a jury-rigged wire adapter for either his Zune or his comm device. Peter might not be as techy as the kid or as Stark, for instance, and the end result of his cobbled together adapter isn’t quite as polished as it could be, but he’s not bad. And apparently while he’s been bedridden, he’s been making more of those mix tapes. He never got a chance to finish all of them, and after the mess with the cultists, he thinks he owes a few more folks at least a small gift.

So what’s the point of this diversion?

The point is, Peter plucks up an empty plastic cassette case and lobs it at the kid’s chest.

u lil brat. ]

Whuh! Hey! It's a legitimate question!

[But he couldn't exactly mask the smile hidden in his offense, when he's hit. And it leaves him with an answer to a question he'd been mentally asking himself since he crawled in through the window: should he ask about Thanos? The answer is a resolute no.

Big Pete is in decent spirits, and he doesn't wanna screw that up for him.]

I get it, okay, I get it: As long as you do the right thing in the end, you're doing okay. Save the day where and when you can and don't brood about it in the rain. Right?

... What?

[ He looks so confused. ]

Where the hell did you get all that from?

I was trying to say you should wear the proper footwear if you’re fighting bad guys. Did you see that part when he had to walk on glass? Brutal.

[ listen if li’l pete is gonna be a shit, big pete can be a shit too. ]

[Peter looks genuinely #shook for a moment, but it lapses into a snort-huff-laugh.]

No, right, I totally knew that. Always wear nice shoes.

Maybe next time I get money [because he just paid a bunch of kids to do a play i fucking can't-], I can actually afford to get some. [He pops one foot up in the air, showing a beat-up nike trainer that is literally fraying at the stitches. Lord, they have seen some things, these poor kicks.] I bought some pants last week? Like, nice pants that have never been worn.

My god. [ In the flattest voice and with the most wooden expression in the universe. ] You’re movin’ on up.

[ Like the Jeffersons.

But Peter drops the act after a second or two, relaxing a little. ]

With that important life lesson out of the way—

You doin’ alright?

[—Ah?

He looks blankly at him for a beat, plopping his foot back down.]

Uh, yeah! Everything's good, real good. Barely any hiccups. A lady thought I was stealing her dog so I got hit in the head with a cane, [He points one finger in one direction, then the other in the opposite direction, crossing his arms.] but I was helping unsteal it from someone else who stole it, so that was kind of a. A mixed deal. But it was a really cute dog.

And I helped clean up these little crab things?

They're everywhere at the amusement park, and it's seriously gross.

[ He lets the kid ramble for a while, then, ]

Right. Okay.

You're telling me what you're doing, not how you're doing.

[He thins his lips (well, even thinner than they already are).]

I'm fine... Solid. No complaints here, really. Just... truckin'.

[... The 'how' answer is much shorter than the 'what' answer.]

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