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ferretshark · 5 years ago

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Meet Me In St Louis

By: @ferretshark

For: @wonkystank

Rating:General

Relationships: Peter Parker & Tony Stark

Characters: Peter Parker, Tony Stark, Happy Hogan, May Parker

Summary:

Peter really wasn’t looking forward to Friday, May was working and he already knew that Tony was going out of town because Lab and movie night were cancelled. He should just take the time to stay in and catch up on sleep. The problem was he couldn’t sleep because he couldn’t stop thinking, but he couldn’t think effectively because he needed sleep. The cycle was vicious and he wasn’t seeing a way out.

He looks up to find Tony watching him.“You know I’m going to St Louis. Why don’t you come with?”

“Go with you? I thought it was a business trip.”

Ao3 link

Peter stares into space, unfocused. He’s tired and everything he needs to do stretches out in front of him. Lately sleep has been hard to come by and the days are blurring together, even Spider-manning has lost some of its charm. He sighs.

“I’m sorry. Am I boring you?” Tony’s voice is teasing.

Peter blinks, eyes snapping back into focus. “Um, no. I'm not bored.” It was lab day, not that they’d accomplished much. The lethargy that had been plaguing Peter all week iswas still there sapping his creativity. He starts to offer up an excuse but settles for honesty. “I’m just... tired.”

Tony’s eyes darken with concern. “Yeah, May and I have been worried about that. Maybe it’s time for a break, Bud.”

Peter narrows his eyes a bit. He’s not sure how he feels about this new development where Tony and May consult on the regular about his welfare.

“So no school on Friday.” Tony ventures. “Happy said you’re o-ff.”

“Yeah, it’s a teacher work day.” He slumps forward, resting his cheek on his hand.

He looks up to find Tony watching him.“You know I’m going to St Louis. Why don’t you come with?”

“Go with you? I thought it was a business trip.”

“It is. All the more reason you should come along.”

Peter considers. Seeing the in and outs of running SI could be cool, but the travel sounds exhausting. “I’ll have to see what May thinks,” he mumbles out.

“She thinks it’s a good idea. “ Tony crosses his arms at Peter’s unimpressed look. “Might be fun to do a little light interning?” Tony’s phone chimes and he glances down. “Happy’s here.”

Peter stands, stretches and starts gathering his jacket and backpack. He’s not really sure where the afternoon’s gone.

Tony walks with him out to the garage, it’s something that’s started to become a bit of a tradition lately. “ See you bright and early on Friday. And, Pete, leave the suit at home.”

—-

Peter tries to go to bed early on Thursday, he really does. He only patrols to nine thirty , comes home, showers and packs his duffle.

He’s in bed by eleven but sleep won’t come. Tossing and turning well past midnight, he checks his phone again, up in three hours. He flips the screen down and passes out close to dawn.

By some miracle he’s awake at five thirty, grabs a quick breakfast and is downstairs ready when the black Bently pulls up to the curb. The door and trunk locks disengage.

“Quick! Get in.” Happy yells through the windows.

Peter barely has time to throw his bag in the open trunk and get the door shut before Happy’s veering back out into traffic. He peers at Peter in the rear view mirror. “Buckle up!”

“Ok, ok I‘m working on it.” Peter pulls the belt and snaps the buckle into place. “Where’s Mr. Stark?”

“He’s meeting us there.” Happy answers, accelerating through a yellow light.

Sometime later, they pull up in front of the private jet hanger. Peter hops out and waits while Happy grabs their bags. The jet sits on the tarmac, and it gives Peter flashbacks of another trip not so long ago. The steps to the passenger cabin lower and Happy hurries inside with the luggage only to poke his head out again.

“Can you tell Tony we’re ready to go? His stuff’s already here but I think he’s in the hanger.”

Peter looks over to the tan building waiting off. “Uh, sure.” He steps inside the open building and sure enough Tony is there, tapping away on his mobile.

“I thought you said no suits.” Peter gestures to the Iron Man suit standing in sentry mode over in the corner of the hanger.

“Do as I say not as I do.” Tony says flippantly, not looking up from his phone. “Anyway, he’s staying here.”

The fact that Tony always talked about each of his suits as if they were wayward children but also proclaimed them synonymous with himself privately amuses Peter. He looks fondly at the suit.

“So still not sleeping?” Peter looks up to find Tony’s gaze sweeping over his face.

“Not really.” He shrugs, he doesn’t want to get into it right now. “Happy says it’s time to go.”

Tony looks out at the jet. “Yeah, probably. Come on.”

______

The flight time stretches out as Peter stares out the window. Mr. Stark mouths an apology but ends up spending most of the time on his phone. He can see Happy hunched over in the back, sending emails.

At least the WiFi is plentiful. Peter spends his time wisely watching tik toks and scrolling through tumblr. He wishes he could rest a little, but even as tired as he is, actual sleepiness seemed out of reach. The tiredness he carries lately is settled down deep in his bones and leaves him feeling like he’s taking tiny sips of rest when he really needs to drink deep. The resulting exhaustion sits heavy in his mind, weighing down his shoulders. Trying to ignore the feeling he stretches out, putting his feet on the seat across from him.

Slipping his earphones in affords him some semblance of privacy, He starts up his Spidey playlist and dives back into the wonders of the internet. He’s not really aware when he starts singing, until he launches into an energetic chorus and suddenly he remembers. He bolts upright to find the other two airplane occupants regarding him with everything from amusement to irritation. In fact, it was exactly those two reactions, amusement and irritation.

“Oh, um sorry.”

Tony laughs and goes back to his work, still smiling.

Happy is playing a mean eyebrow game as he finishes his phone call.

Peter clears his throat and settles back into his seat <i>quietly.</i> He also studiously avoids looking around the passenger cabin. Fortunately, within thirty minutes, they're on the ground at the airport.

He stands and stretches while Happy and Tony disembark. He’s learned by now that the most important thing to do in these situations is stay out of Happy Hogan’s way. The man is a ball of energy as he secures their ride and gets the luggage put away.

Tony slides into the back seat and Peter slips in beside him. “Let’s go, Hap.”

Peter marvels at the views of an unfamiliar city through the car window, far off he catches a glimpse of the Gateway Arch, the city’s most famous landmark. There’s factories and abandoned houses, museums and concrete, but it’s also beautiful and green in a way that parts of Queens aren't. Maybe it’s not a fair comparison but, hey, Peter hasn’t been too many places.

They pull up at the Four Seasons Hotel because, of course, Tony always goes first class. Peter takes a quick panoramic shot and sends it out in a text to his best friend. Ned was going to die.

The lobby is all light and glass and Peter tries hard not to be intimidated. He’d stayed in some reasonably nice places back when he was in band, but really nothing close to this.

Tony goes to the front desk and comes back with keycards. He passes them out to Peter and Happy.

“We have early check in so go make yourselves at home. Same floor.”

Happy looks a little surprised, “They didn’t have your suite-”

He’s cut off by Tony. “It’s good, we’re good,” he calls over his shoulder, heading to the elevator. “Let’s go.”

They get to the right floor and exit the elevator and Tony hovers while Peter finds his room number easily enough. Tony lingers behind him in the hallway until his door swings open, making sure his keycard works.

Peter pushes inside to reveal a tasteful decor in green, gray and olive. The room opens up at the end with an enormous picture window, framing the far off bridge and graceful sloping Arch. His first thought is that he’d love to swing from it. His second is that he must be in the wrong room.

He leans back out in the hallway. “Mr. Stark?” He can see Tony down and across the hall balancing his phone while he tries to work his key card from its little paper sleeve.

“Yeah, Pete?”

“I think I have the wrong room. There’s the view um..the Arch?” He gestures back toward the room.

Tony’s smile is soft with understanding, “I know kid, I’ve seen it.” He disappears into his own room. “Try a nap, if you can.”

Peter turns back, his eyes riveted to the skyline. Slipping into the room, he drops his bag on the floor. “Holy shit.” He whispers and then executes a pivot and falls backward onto the incredibly soft bed.

He reaches into his pocket and pulls his phone out, thumb sliding across the cracked screen. The plan is to send a few quick texts to May, but the muse strikes him and he steps over to take a few pictures from the window.

There’s a sharp rap at the door and Peter surges to his feet. Outside in the hall he finds Happy, looking not very happy at all. The man was all business.

“Ok, at midday we’ll be heading over to Switchpoint Services. We’ll do lunch there. The meeting’s at one.” Happy hands him a packet. “Here’s your security badge.” He slaps a laminated piece of plastic into Peter’s hand, “Wear it,” he stresses. “Do not lose it.” He gives Peter stern look, bulging out his eyes to make his point.

“That was, like, one time.” Peter tries to defend himself.

“If you don’t have the badge, they won’t let you in.” Happy doubles down on the dire warnings. “And don’t think you can sweet-talk your way upstairs like you do with that lobby guy at SI.”

“Ok, ok Happy, I got it.”

“Meet us in the lobby at 11 and we’ll head over.”

Happy turns and heads off down the hall. Peter shuts the door and sets his packet out. He should probably familiarize himself with the company they were going to.

There’s an olive chaise and he sits down on it. He spends a lazy half hour reading over the history of one Switchpoint Services, a poly-global tech company. Their latest innovations were extremely noteworthy. No wonder Mr. Stark wanted to partner with them.

He flips listlessly through the pages again. Maybe he should take a nap, like Mr Stark suggested. He glances over at the bed, but the thought of laying there, wanting to sleep but being unable. His new unwelcome normal. No, Peter turns his head back towards the window, then leans his head against it. He watches the flow of people and traffic below him.

A brief pattern of soft knocks sound at the door, and Peter’s head jerks up.

“Come in,” Peter calls.

Tony sticks his head around the door. “You busy?”

“Oh, it’s you.”

Tony just gives him a look before stepping into the room. He walks over to where Peter is.

“You just standing here?” Tony’s brows draw together.

Peter shrugs, “Yeah.” He wants to confide in Tony and tell him about the lack of sleep, the inability to rest. He feels like if anyone would understand, it would be Ironman. The words won’t come though, but in the end he doesn’t need them.

Tony hooks the edge of the olive green lounger and pulls it in front of the window. He pats the seat beside him. Peter joins him and they sit together, staring out at the mid-morning crush. Everyone outside was hurrying, trying to get somewhere but in this moment, in this space, Peter found he could finally just breathe.

There’s something in the shared silence that does more than any amount of talking could have.

Eventually, Tony’s phone beeps and he leaves, telling Peter it’s almost time to get ready.

Peter changes into his “work” clothes. His standard blue-gray sweater over a collared shirt and khaki pants. Not snazzy, like whatever Mr Stark will wear, but it works. He picks up the packet Happy gave him, slips his keycard in his pocket, and goes down in the elevator.

Downstairs Happy and Mr. Stark are chatting quietly. Happy is in his standard gray suit. Mr Stark is wearing a fitted black suit with a white dress shirt and red tie. His eyes are somewhat masked by the fashion shades he’s wearing. Peter fidgets, feeling underdressed.

Ton smiles when he catches sight of Peter, “There he is. Right on time.” He claps Peter on the back and they head to the parking lot.

Happy ushers them to the car and they drive through the busy city to a square building with blue mirrored windows.

Peter steps out, looking up at the office and swallows, tugging a bit at his cuffs.

Tony catches his eye, “Nerves?”

“Nah, I’m good.” Peter says with a little more confidence than he actually feels. He checks to make sure he has his security badge and that it’s visible.

There’s nothing quite like stepping into a business with Tony Stark. He’s instantly recognizable and between Stark Industries and the Avengers, his celebrity has launched into the stratosphere.

Happy takes immediate charge or coordinating with the personnel on site. Peter follows close behind Mr. Stark as they are ushered into a brightly lit, but currently empty, conference room. It’s bigger than Peter had expected and he wonders for the first time just how many people would be joining them.

After quiet discussion with their guid, Tony settles in at the head of the table and directs Peter to the seat on his right. The chairs themselves are a dove gray with a surprisingly comfortable seat. Peter leans back and stretches his legs out in front of him.

“You hungry?” Mr Stark asks.

“Mm, yeah. I could eat,” Peter answers politely.

“Yeah me too,” Mr. Stark steps out and has a word with Happy. When he comes back, he has food.

“The finest box lunch ten bucks can buy. Complete with mystery cookie.” Tony tosses down a box lunch in front of Peter. Tony leaves and comes back with bottled waters.

They open their boxes and Peter pulls out his ham and cheese. This was one of those fancier lunches with the really good bread. He takes a bite and sighs. Hunger well on its way to being sated, he roots around to find his chips and a wrapped dill pickle slice.

“Chocolate, white chocolate chunk.” Tony comments, unwrapping his baked good. “What did you get?”

“Looks like white chocolate macadamia.” Peter keeps his expression neutral because, sure, he’d eat it. He generally wasn’t in the position to be picky.

He looks up to find Tony holding the chocolate cookie out, “Trade?”

“Um sure.” He knows he sound less enthusiastic than he feels but he is grateful - chocolate cookies were the best.

“ Macadamia nuts. You know,” Tony muses. “Back in the day, they used to serve pouches of these on flights to Hawaii.” He takes a bite of the cookie, chews and swallows. “For the greater good and all, but I still kinda miss ‘em.”

They clean up their lunches and Tony reads over his notes again. As the meeting time grows closer, the room starts to fill with people. There’s polite murmuring among the group and Peter does his best not to eavesdrop. It’s full to capacity by the time, a woman greets them both warmly and then calls everyone to attention.

“I want to turn you over to our esteemed guest, Mr. Tony Stark.” Applause from around the conference table and Peter wonders awkwardly if he should be clapping too. As he’s puzzling over the implications of clapping versus not clapping, the group moves on, their attention completely focused on Tony, at the head of the table.

“You know who I am so we won’t waste anymore time on that.” A confident smile curls at Tony’s lips. “I do want to introduce you to my intern Peter.” He gestures to Peter, who in lieu of saying anything, settles for a quick wave. He hopes he wasn’t supposed to say anything.

Tony continues talking, “I have a lot of proposals come across my desk, but this one was exceptional, the possibilities of application are endless…”

Peter zones out a bit as the meeting winds on. There’s a back and forth, then question time before the meeting ends around lunch time.

Tony drops back in his seat after the last person, a chatty man in a silver tie, files out.

“That went well.”

Peter is watching him and playing with a pen between his fingers, “Yeah, it seemed to. These guys are really smart.”

“Did you get a copy of the prospectus?” Tony asks, glancing over at him.

“Oh, no I didn’t get one.” Peter glances around his spot at the table, just in case he’s overlooked it.

“Here,” Tony slides the thick packet over, “read it.”

And Peter does, it doesn’t take him long to get to the particulars.

He pores over the details. It’s for a mobile robot that could source its own energy needs. It consumed metal by breaking down its chemical bonds and converted it to stored energy, like a battery.

“This is so cool.” Peter marvels. He could think of several applications just off the top of his head.

Tony smiles, “I knew you’d appreciate it.”

“Are you buying the patent?”

“I’m buying the company.” Mr. Stark smirks but then he holds up a finger. “That’s confidential, it’s not official. Gotta convince Pep first.” Tony had a leather satchel and he slips his documents inside. “Ready to head out?”

“Yeah sure.” Peter gathers his own papers. “Where’s Happy?”

“I have him running point on a few things.” Mr. Stark doesn’t elaborate and Peter follows him out. They drop their badges off and head out into the late afternoon sunshine.

There’s a silver Audi parked in a reserved spot and Peter doesn’t waste time wondering how it got there. As with most things involving Tony, it just was. They get in and buckle up.

“Any idea what you want for dinner?”

“I’m good with whatever. “

“Any thoughts? Now’s your chance.” Tony merges into the flow of traffic and accelerates, the engine purrs as it picks up speed.

Peter shrugs, he doesn’t really know any places up here aside from fast food restaurants and he doesn’t think that’s what Mr. Stark would want.

Tony drums his thumbs on the steering wheel, thinking. “You ever been to The Cheesecake Factory?”

Pete blinks. There was one in Queens but it was more for tourists and proms. Plus it was kind of pricey. He and May frequented the quieter, family owned restaurants around their apartment.

“Maybe once with Ned?” He really wasn’t sure.

“So it’s been a while?” Tony shoots him a look from the corner of his eye. “Sound ok to you?”

“Sure, sounds good. I’m totally good with whatever, Mr Stark.”

They park near the restaurant and Tony sheds his jacket and tie, tossing them in the back. They’re seated right away and the waitress drops off bread.

Peter is happy to find that the portions are huge and the bread basket bottomless. By the time they finish their cheesecake, he’s actually comfortably full.

“I didn't know Tony Stark ate anywhere like the Cheesecake Factory.” Peter teases

“Jokes on you, Tony Stark once ate a two day old cheese burger off the floor. Not one of my finer moments and also one I’d encourage you not to repeat.” Tony’s self deprecating smile almost masked the flash of emotion behind his eyes but not quite.

Peter falls back on a joke to head off any awkwardness, “You only do that with gummy bears, Mr Stark.”

Tony gives him a long look and then narrows his eyes.

“I was eight!” Peter says defensively.

Tony’s tone is pure skepticism. “Sure you were.”

The waitress comes back with the bill. . “ Here’s this whenever you're ready. Your to-go order and cheesecakes are coming. We’re just getting them bagged up now.”

“Piece to go?” Peter wonders.

Tony’s mouth quirks, “A piece? I got a whole cake. Pep would kill me if I didn’t bring her some.”

He flips open the card holder and signs the top copy with typical flourish. Peter notices in spite of himself that the tip line has a couple of extra zeros for their waitress. Tony slips his card back into his wallet.

“I don’t know why they don’t take Starkpay.” He mutters to himself as much as Peter. “We gotta make that more of a thing.”

it makes Peter feel funny to have Tony pay for him. He’s aware that Tony foots lots of bills but he doesn’t want the man to feel like it’s expected.

The drive back to the hotel is in comfortable silence. Peter doesn’t feel like he needs to fill the space with words, he feels valued and understood. He can count on one hand the places in his life that fill him with this kind of contentment.

“The Midwest isn’t a bad place to live.” Tony ruminates. “I’ve blown through here a couple of times, used to stay at the Omni. There’s a great little curry shop downtown, only open for two hours a day, but that is some great pakora.”

“What’s it called?” Peter’s curiosity gets the better of him.

“Mr. Curry.” Tony answers and then grins.

Peter’s laugh surprises him. There’s nothing really funny about it but everything seems light and easy right now.

“Next time, remind me to take you up to the bakery in Kirkwood.’” Tony says thoughtfully, “The cookies? You’ll love ‘em. He’s a fully trained chef with a little hole in the wall shop. It’s pretty cool.”

The sun had set when they were in the restaurant and the world was muted and dark. The lights from the stores and other cars blur together and Peter is overcome with a feeling somnolence. He can suddenly barely keep his eyes open.

Tony pulls the Audi into the hotel lot and parks it in a smooth motion.

“Hey, Pete,” He calls, his voice low. “We’re here, bud.”

Peter blinks slowly and wipes at his eyes with his palms. “Ok.” He picks up his things and they head inside. The lights of the lobby are a little blinding after being outside, causing Peter to squint under the glare.

Tony hands off his cheesecake to the front desk and they take the elevator upstairs. Peter slumps against the wall. He notices that Tony still has a bag in his hand and when Peter looks at it, he lifts it up and smiles.

“Happy. He’s a late eater,” He explains.

Peter nods, but doesn't speak, words are just a bridge too far right now, which is very unlike him.

He gets his ley in the reader and the door opens. Tony lingers for a moment.“You need anything? Glass of water? Pillow menu?”

“P- There’s a pillow menu?” Peter’s not quite sure if Tony’s teasing or not, but he considers, “Nah, I'm good, Mr. Stark. Thanks for dinner.” Thanks for everything.

“Sleep tight, kid. You did good today.” Tony’s smile is warm and fond. “See you in the morning, he heads off to find Happy.

Buoyed by the praise Peter shuts his door, showers and brushes his teeth. He nearly forgets to set his alarm, but catches it before collapsing into bed and falling into a deep and dreamless sleep.

When Peter wakes up, he feels well-rested for the first time in a long time. He has to admit that this has been a nice vacation from New York. He showers, dresses and packs up his clothes and phone charger. He pushes the curtains back and takes in the view one more time. He’s kind of going to miss it here.

Gathering up his bag, he looks out the window one, more time before texting Mr. Stark and Happy that he was on his way down stairs. When he steps off the elevator, he finds Tony in the seating area and he’s just sitting down when Happy shows up.

“You’re looking better.” Happy comments, setting down a coffee carrier and handing him a cup. “Got your usual.”

“Oh thanks!” Peter takes his. It’s sweet and hot and he sighs into it happily. Only to look up and see Tony watching him with gentle amusement.

“Coffee, Am I right?” Tony smiles and reaches for his own cup.

“Yeah.” Peter takes another drink. “So the beds here are amazing. It was like being eaten by a marshmallow. Or maybe a cloud.”

Happy snorts and Tony grins at his phone, “There might be a future for you in advertising.”

They take their coffee and drive over to what amounts to an elaborate networking session with brunch being served. Of course, everyone wanted to talk to Mr. Stark so Peter kept close to Happy and munched his way through all four flavors of bagel. Not quite up to New York standards, but passable.

A few people do talk to him and ask about his internship. Fortunately, they’d worked the particulars of that cover story out long ago. He sticks mostly to the script, but tells one woman that he’s also into web design, only to be interrupted by Happy choking on his orange juice.

It takes a while to extricate themselves. Mr. Stark seems intent on making himself accessible. Although he’s not big on shaking hands, he does listen carefully when people talk to him. It strikes Peter that Tony Stark the businessman is a very different animal from Tony Stark, the Avenger, who shows up late for briefings just to troll Captain America. He’s glad he’s in a position to witness both.

They make it out mid afternoon, just beating rush hour.

“Pepper wants you to sign these.” Happy hurries up the steps and thrusts a leather portfolio at Tony.

Peter falls back in his seat, he’d slept last night but drowsiness persists.

The jet is dimmer than he remembers and warm. He can hear the scratch of Tony’s fountain pen against paper as he goes over the contracts. It relaxes him

He finds his eyes slipping closed. At some point he wakes up to find a blanket tucked around his shoulders and Tony watching him with a warm expression full of fondness.

“Go back to sleep, bud.”

And he does, easily.

He wakes to Tony gently shaking his knee. Peter stretches,

Happy’s head was rolled back against the seat, snoring solidly, but as soon as he realizes where they are, he springs into action.

It takes a while but they finally make it into Queens and Happy sits idling in the street while cars weave around them, honking

“This is for May.” Tony casually hands Peter a Cheesecake Factory bag.

“Oh wow.” Peter sniffs the bag, its definitely chocolate.

Tony regards him through the rolled down window, “Ok, take care. Stay out of trouble.”

Peter scoffs, “Of course.” They both know that’s a lie, Tony laughs.

“Bye Peter.” Happy calls impatiently, but Peter doesn’t take offense.

“Goodbye, drive safe!” He calls after the Departing Bentley.

Peter turns and bounds up the steps with the bag.

“May?”He calls when he opens the apartment door.

“Hey Baby.” May lights up when she sees him and he closes in on her for a quick hug.

He pulls back and shows her the bag, “Tony sent you a cheesecake.”

“That was thoughtful. Put it in the fridge.” She tucks her hair up. “You’re gonna help me eat it, right? Right?” When he doesn't answer her immediately she nudges him with her elbow.

“Depends on what flavor it is.”

“Thai tonight?”

“Sure, you know how I love a good larb.”

“And the larb loves you.” She quips pulling a plate from the drying rack and putting it up in the cabinet. “So how was your trip?”

“Good!” Peter washes his hands and grabs a handful of silverware to toss in the drawer.

“It worked.” He makes short work of tossing everything into the various slots and turns to look at her.

“What worked?” Her face is the picture of innocence.

“Come on.” Peter gives her a look.“You guys think I wouldn’t figure it out?

May’s eyes take on a serious tone and she reaches up and shifts a couple of his curls back into place. “He was worried. We both were. And for the record, you look less like the walking dead and a lot more like Peter.”

“Yeah, I feel more like him too,” He smiles.

“Ok, I’m going to go get ready for dinner.” She sweeps out of the kitchen, “be ready in ten!”

Peter grabs his bag and heads to his room, his phone starts ringing and he accepts the Facetime call.

“Hey!”

“ Just wanted to make sure you got home ok.”

“Yeah, Mr. Stark. You just saw me like an hour ago,” Peter teases.

“Well you never know, it’s a fast paced world, Mr. Parker.” Tony is leaning back with a washcloth covering his eyes.

Peter frowns, “Are you ok?”

“Just winding down after a hard couple day's work.”

Peter hears the soft sloshing of water, “Wait, are you in the bathtub?” He demands incredulously, squinting at the screen, were those <i>bubbles?</i>

“Yep, creature comforts and all, don’t knock it til you- oop, oh shit.”

The view shifts as the phone falls sideways, then a distinct ‘bloop’ and the viewscreen goes a blurry iridescent to blue then black.

“Mr. Stark?”

Friday’s voice comes over the blackened screen. “Mr. Stark is no longer connected.”

Peter blows out a laugh and then he chortles, he so cannot wait for the next lab day.

#friendly-neighborhood-exchange #@wonkystank #exchange fic #moodboardbyme

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official-mr-saxobeat · 6 years ago

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N e way it has been 728 days since I last saw/had any communication from my older brother (and longer for my little brother, but I don't know the exact date bc I wasn't fucking PAYING ATTENTION.)

And you know what? I remember the day. 7-14-17. He told me he'd text me the next day and see me the next week. You wanna know how many times he's contacted me? Zero. He's also blocked me. All because his fucking CUNT parents (can you say: DIS-GUS-TENG) decided for some fucking UNKNOWN reason that our mom, sister, and I needed to be cut off completely. Literal family, disowned with absolutely no explanation. He and I were closer than ANYONE and ALWAYS told each other we were more important than anyone else to each other. He has had so, so many opportunities to contact me. Literally just sending a fucking letter could've worked. Just, "Hey, it's Tyler. Simon and I are ok. We miss you a ton. Don't send anything back." But would you guess what? Nope. Nothing. One of his friends said that he misses me, and is apparently going to text me once he's 18. But a mutual friend of ours (who's closer to him than the other one) said more recently that he hates me now! Neat. Great. Good. Wonderful. Our sister lived in a much, MUCH more dangerous house than his, and yet wouldn't you know it! She has contacted me every single time she's had the opportunity, and risked a lot for it too. Even if she couldn't carry on a conversation, she'd let me know that she was at least safe or ok. And wow! Now that she has a phone again, she texts me all the time! Almost like...if you put in the effort to contact someone you care about, you absolutely can! She's planning to drive down and visit me! (If you're reading this Pauline I love you SO HECKING MUCH HOE ASS HOE!!!!)

I even believe that our little brother would have contacted me if he knew how. He was fucking six the last time I saw him. He's turning nine this August. Of COURSE he can't contact me, he doesn't have a phone or know my address to send a letter.

Anyway. I don't know if I'll ever hear from him again. Lots of people have told me to just give up.

....

Don't they get it...? I can't ever give up. He was my everything. Absolutely everything to me. He was there, always, no matter what.

He has no idea how many times I've cried, sobbed myself to sleep over losing him. He has no idea how much sleep I've lost over him, whether it be from nightmares where he finds me and tells me he hates me and hopes I kill myself, or from not being able to sleep because I had an unexplainable feeling that he might, just maybe, come see me, and I didn't want to go to sleep for fear of not hearing a knock or the doorbell. I'd already gone through that with our sister. He has no idea how many times I've come so, so close to just texting him, telling him how much I miss him, telling him I've changed, how much I wish he'd come back. How much I wish I could just hear his voice. See his face. Hear his laugh.

I don't know what I did. I have absolutely no clue. Neither does Pauline. Or our mom. Not an inkling. I found a letter the other day from them when I was going through boxes. A birthday card. There were long messages from both of them (the cunts) inside, telling me how much they loved me, how proud they were of me and the young man I was growing into, how much they loved having me as a part of their family, etc, etc. Who knew that in less than a year and a half from then, they'd be telling me I shouldn't ever ask about going on a family trip to the beach. But not for the same reason it used to be. It used to be, "Don't ever ask if you can come with us on a family trip, you're OBVIOUSLY coming! Why wouldn't you? You are family, after all!"

Then it was, "You're so selfish. Don't EVER ask something like that. Why would you think you could just invite yourself on a trip with us? How DARE you be so disrespectful!? You should be ashamed of yourself."

I hadn't even asked to go. I had been on every single beach trip EVER with them. They were family, after all. Tyler told me they were going to Santa Monica and asked if I was coming. I said no. I hadn't even known anything about it. So I texted CUNT BITCH (CB) and she didn't respond. All I said was, "Hey, Tyler told me you're going on a beach trip on Monday and Tuesday, did you forget to invite me or should I just not come?"

She didn't respond for over four hours. Which was really fucking weird. Because she always responded to me. So I texted again. "It's totally fine if I can't come, I'd just appreciate it if you could tell me instead of leaving me on read please."

Wow! Would you guess what. CUNT FUCK (CF) (her husband) texted me ALMOST IMMEDIATELY from her phone. The message read something like (I don't have the original texts anymore),

"How could you be so selfish. Inviting yourself on a trip that's for FAMILY ONLY. (Insert rant about how I'm a terrible person and caused CB to have a "panic attack") (and yes, I know putting panic attack in quotations seems really bad, but she faked panic attacks the entire time I knew her, aka my whole life. And they got SO much worse in those last couple months.) You hurt CB so much. You know how much she cares about you, and yet you accused her of ignoring you. How could you. I'm disappointed in the amount of disrespect you are showing right now." (Side note, I went over to his house back in June, CB opened the door, didn't recognize me at first, then said, "Nope, get out!" And slammed the door in my face.)

Tyler came over the next day, we hung out, he left. When he hugged me goodbye he said he'd talk to his parents about bringing me on the beach trip, he didn't know why they hadn't asked me.

And that was the last I heard from him. Friday, July fourteenth, 2017. Never again. I don't know if he hates me. But it certainly seems like he does.

I don't know, maybe one day he'll contact me again. Maybe he won't. Maybe I'll live the rest of my life wondering what I did and why he and his parents hate me. Maybe he will contact me, just to tell me what a terrible person I am and how glad he is he was separated from me.

I don't know.

I just want to talk to him again. I want to tell him how sorry I am for being a bossy prick. For beating him up when we were little (but I mean we're fucking brothers, and that's just what we fucking did back then). For not being there on his 14th birthday. For getting angry when he won games. For being angsty all the time when I was older. For lecturing him about Homestuck all the time. For being in the hospital so much when I was younger (see: being angsty all the time). For spending more time with s/o's than him sometimes. For waking him up at 0100 in the morning in 7th grade. For being so flamboyant about my sexuality for a few years (god, that was bad). For saying TRIGGERED every two seconds. For hurting myself even after I promised I wouldn't. For not being good enough at the piano to play the Animal Crossing: City Folk museum theme with him. For not waking up early when he was over. For not making enough (or good enough) homemade gifts for him. For not having enough random gift days. For not listening to him when he said things I was doing were edgy. For making him listen to annoying music.

For not being a good enough brother.

I miss him so much. I miss Simon so much. I miss Pauline so much too, obviously, but it's different because I've been able to talk with her all the time. I know she loves and misses me. I also have a feeling that Simon loves and misses me too. He always liked/loved me more than anyone else. He hated his parents. He told me so. I was the only one that respected him. I feel like no matter the amount of brainwashing his parents did to him, he'd know the truth. I just hope he knows I didn't abandon him. That I love him so much. And that it hurts so, so much, every day. And especially on Christmas and his birthday. And Halloween. We loved Halloween.

It's 0606 now. There's 41 hours and 54 minutes until it's been two whole years.

I wonder if he remembers the day...?

I don't know.

I wonder if he'll read this one day. Probably not. But if he does I hope he knows how much I love him and how much I miss him and how much I miss our driveway talks in the middle of the night and Mario kart races and pool games and water pool games and snowmen and sledding and writing stories together and drawing maps together and listening to pop songs while making fun of them and playing the undertale song game and playing minecraft and watching markiplier and fighting and cheating at board games in each other's favor and sorting candy after Halloween and collecting shit money from a camel in that Indiana Jones lego Wii game and making characters in that star wars lego Wii game and screaming badgers at the top of our lungs and spinning in circles to the hamster dance and walking home from elementary school and learning Japanese and OPERATIONTWENTYFOURHUNDRED and Sliced and making house tour videos and other fucking stupid home videos and building legos and rebuilding legos bc of simon and REREBUILDING LEGOS BC OF SIMON and planning midnight snacks that never happened and going to the waterpark and going to the park and finally being allowed to go places on our own and practicing singing to you and seeing you at all my concerts and playing Kirby's Return to Dreamland to 100% together and making really disgusting food creations when we were really little and playing with your hotwheels and cleaning my (DIS-GUS-TENG) room together and having random gift days and all your birthdays and all my birthdays and your AMAZING peanut butter fudge banana smoothie (which I,,, still have yet to perfect) and you being absolutely blunt and truthful towards me (except about my drawing skills/drawings which you absolutely loved even though they were terrible) and going through the undertale files to try and hack the end credits so we could get through the mysterious door and having tea parties together with that FUCKING TINY tea set (I have a big one now though) and giving you fashion shows with fucking stupid clothes that were really bad and playing Wii ski together and Super Mario Galaxy together while you were Mario and I froze enemies and collected stars and playing HMTOT and playing Animal Crossing and you selling everything you caught and all your furniture (besides mario stuff, obviously) so I could buy the Gracie Grace stuff (god, I was a cunt) and EOU (YOU'RE AS BLIND AS A WORM) and essentially having our own language and reading jack and annie books when we were really little and just. There's 20,000 more things plus some but I could never list them all. Everything we've ever done together I miss.

I don't know your views on a lot of things now. I don't know what you think about gay people. I've heard that you've called me they instead of he ever since we stopped talking. That's understandable, though. I dressed like a girl and wore makeup and stuff. I was confused. I thought that's what you were supposed to do, as a gay dude. Obviously not. I'm way less out there about my sexuality now. It's not something I talk about. It's not my whole fucking personality anymore. Which is really good.

I've changed so much since I last talked to you. I'm not edgy anymore. I fucking finally hit puberty (GODDAMN IT WAS FUCKING LATE) and my voice is really deep and I've been growing quite a bit of facial hair, which is nice. I don't look like a fucking girl anymore because I stopped dressing like one and wearing makeup and stuff. I realized that being mistaken for a girl felt like shit and tumblr was shit for encouraging that, just because I'm gay. I haven't hurt myself since September 4th, 2017. So that's also good. I've seen the bad things in mom that I couldn't see before. (Even though there's literally. Nothing that should have made your fucking cunt mother and father disown Pauline and mom and I.) I've made more friends and lost a lot too. I've done more writing, but nothing too edgy. I got my shit together in school and I'm going to CCCC starting in the fall. I almost have my driver's license. One of my best friend's moms is the manager at Starbucks and I talked to her about hiring me, so I'm getting a job soon, too. I started learning the piano again, for the first time in 12 years. Since the last time your mom taught it to me. I started cooking more, and have made some pretty amazing dishes, if I do say so myself. Mom and I sent you and Simon birthday and Christmas presents every year. They always were sent back. Except for your 16th birthday. I bought you a pineapple pizza club pin and an orange dad hat with an orange on it. Those are the only things that ever haven't been sent back. I sent a note with them too. Did you read it? I hope so.

I brag about you all the time. Mostly about how smart you are. "My brother essentially taught himself pre-calculus in 10th grade, and STILL passed the class," I say. I then go on to explain that you were homeschooled and your math teacher almost never showed up to the online classes.

I've wondered often about what college you're going to go to, or even if you are going. We used to plan to go to one together. I can't even remember what I wanted as a career the last time we talked. I remember that you had no idea, though. I remember you being really good at coding. Maybe you're majoring in computer sciences? I don't know.

I really miss you a ton. Before she kicked me out, mom used to encourage me to send you a letter. I never did. I was scared. Scared of getting a letter back like the one I sent to Simon on his eighth birthday, or the Christmas package we sent in 2017. Both came back to our house with "RETURN TO SENDER!!!!!!!" written in thick black sharpie on the front. Even worse, I imagined a letter back in your handwriting. I would've been so, so ecstatic. Beyond thrilled. Then upon opening it, finding a handwritten letter from you saying that you never wanted to hear from me again and that you hated me.

It was selfish of me. To not send you a letter. I'm sorry. I texted you twice. You blocked me the second time. It was too scary to me. I should've been brave. For you. Just so you knew I was thinking of you. I'm so sorry. I love you so much. I miss you so much.

After I moved back to our hometown, I thought about going to your house. I texted one of your friends. He said that he could text you for me. He said that you said you miss me. And that you'd text me as soon as you turned 18. Tyler, you don't even know my number. I don't know if the guy was lying or not, but I don't think so. He doesn't seem like the type. He said that you wouldn't have him communicate for us. I don't know why.

I don't know why your parents hate me. I don't know what I did. For the longest time, my therapist and mom and Pauline told me that I didn't do anything, it had to have been something between mom and your mom. I didn't believe that at all. If it was just mom, why did they cut Pauline and I off...? But eventually I started to believe them. That was clearly a mistake, seeing how your mom treated me when I saw her. I wonder if she told you about that. She literally slammed the door in my face. In her own son's face. Who she always told would always have a home with her. Who she always told would always have a place in her heart, no matter what happened between mom and her. So clearly I did do something. I have no idea what. Could it really be that I asked about if I had been forgotten for a trip...? Was 15 years of raising a child completely disregarded because I was curious and confused? Again, I have no clue. I doubt I ever will. But if that is the case. If that's why specifically /I/ was cut off (because I know there was something else between mom and your mom that she literally never explained. Literally all mom and Pauline and I know is that apparently mom was "abusive" for years towards your mom, despite nobody ever seeing it, her never mentioning it before I went to Oak Grove, and her saying that she "knew it happened, but didn't know what it was"), then I doubt that your parents ever really loved me. If a simple question erases a lifetime of care and love and bonds and family, then all of those things were never really there.

It's 0737. Yeah, I still use military time. Also, I wanted to do a speech (in my speech class) on why a time system based on 10's would be better for the world. Remember? You wanted that. I couldn't remember the details, though. Anyway. It's 0738. There's 40 hours and 22 minutes until it's been two years since I've seen you.

I often wonder if you think about me. I think about you all the time. Have I faded from your memory? What am I to you now? Am I your brother, your closest confidant, your best friend, and your <>? Am I nothing? Just a faint thought, a distant memory? Or am I your worst enemy? Have your parents convicted you that I'm a horrible person? I desperately hope not. I hope you remember everything. And I hope that you realize that it's been a long time, and we both have matured a ton. Going from an edgy 10th grader who thinks dressing like a girl, screaming "GAY," and looking up undertale AU's are the coolest things ever to a college freshman who finally realized that sexuality shouldn't be a personality trait, being an edgy cunt isn't cool, and responsibilities are actually important is a big difference. I'm sure you've had some huge changes too. You're almost 18. As of today, there's 2 months and 2 days until your birthday. I've been waiting for it for so, so long. An eternity, it feels like. I'm so scared. I don't know if you hate me or not. I'm going to text you. I'm not sure on what, but something. I'll tell you happy birthday. Just so you know how to contact me in case you want to talk. I have no idea if you'll just block me right off the bat. I'm hoping so, so much that Nathanael wasn't saying you hate me.

It's 0756. There's 40 hours and 4 minutes until it's been two years since I've seen you. Error 404 means...something not found, right? I don't know. It doesn't matter.

I miss you. I love you.

Please come back soon.

- E. Nikolas B.

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