Peter glared at Mr. Stark as the man adjusted a Mickey hat on his head. He took it off as soon as Mr. Stark's arms fell back down at his sides and resisted the urge to stomp the hat into the ground or throw it away in a trash can. Either of those actions would just attract even more attention, and that was exactly what Peter was trying to avoid.
His efforts were in vain, though. It was literally impossible for Tony Stark not to attract all sorts of attention, especially in a place like that, where there were people swarming all around them, and since Peter, along with Happy, stood next to Tony Stark, he attracted all sorts of attention, too.
"This isn't what I had in mind when I agreed to get out of the house, Mr. Stark," said Peter. He watched as a gang of small kids, with their eyes glued to Mr. Stark, were pushed along by their parents.
"Oh, come on, Pete," said Mr. Stark. "This is Disneyland. The happiest place in the world."
He wanted to melt right there on the concrete path just like the ice cream one of those kids had dropped in his shock over seeing Iron Man.
Once, when Peter was younger, he wanted to go to Disneyland, or Disneyworld, or anywhere really, where he could see his favorite movies come to life, as if they were real. There was never enough money, though, and Peter wasn't younger anymore. He was older. He knew movies were just movies, even if there were actors who got paid to dress up and pretend to be characters from them.
He was certainly too old for Disneyland, or at least, too old to be escorted around a theme park by both a parental figure and a body guard. A very grumpy body guard at that. Not that Peter blamed Happy for his bad mood, he was right there with him, but every time Happy shouted at crowds of people to respect their perimeter, he wanted to vanish on the spot.
It was almost worse than Mr. Stark ambushing him with sunscreen in the parking lot while photo-happy crowds looked on. Almost.
Peter could already see the headlines. Tony Stark and the Queens Orphan spend day at Disney. That's what the press called him. It was either Queens Orphan, or Tony Stark's ward. Peter didn't know which one he liked the least.
"What do you want to do?" asked Mr. Stark, as he elbowed him. They came to stop by a giant park map.
"Go home," said Peter.
He and Happy shared a look of mutual misery and agreement. At least Peter wasn't wearing a black suit. He saw the sweat on Happy's face and decided he might be shouting about perimeter's too if he weren't wearing shorts and t-shirt.
"You know the deal," Mr. Stark told him. "Five rides and lunch, then we can go."
Peter didn't remember making a deal like that. He remembered that he was starting to feel better, starting to get up and out of his room more, when Mr. Stark convinced him he needed to get out of the house. He was under the impression they were just going to see a movie in theater, or maybe just out for lunch. Not that they were headed to Disneyland.
He didn't understand why Mr. Stark wanted to torture him this badly, but if he was going to be tortured, he planned on taking the other two with him.
"Can we get lunch first?" asked Peter. It was just ten thirty, but Peter wasn't eating because he was hungry. "I'm starving."
"Sure."
They found the place that served the giant turkey legs and scarfed them down, then Peter led the two men to the roller coaster he was sure would annoy Mr. Stark the most, the Incredicoaster.
"You want me, an actual superhero, to go on a ride with you dedicated to cartoon superheroes?" asked Mr. Stark
"Yeah," said Peter. He shrugged. "It's the fastest."
He knew his roller coaster history. He didn't want to say so out loud, fearing it would only encourage Mr. Stark in all his antics, but he loved rides, loved spending summer days in Coney Island with Ned. Even after the spider bite, there wasn't anything like a good roller coaster. Only swinging through Queens as Spider-Man could compare.
"Alright," said Mr. Stark. "Let's go."
Mr. Stark directed him to the fast pass lane, and Peter bit his lip while they walked passed the people waiting patiently, or not so patiently, in the standard line. Having unlimited FastPasses didn't feel natural for him, so he kept his head down until they got to the front, where they only waited a couple of minutes to be let on the ride.
"I'll meet ya on the other side, boss," said Happy.
"You're not coming, too?" asked Peter. "Afraid of it? This is a little kid–"
"-I'm not afraid of the roller coaster," said Happy. "I'm here to keep you two from getting trampled. Not go on rides."
"Sounds like fear to me, Mr. Stark."
"Kid's got a point, Hap."
Happy narrowed his eyes, and sneered, but ultimately followed them past the gate and onto the ride. They nabbed the cart in the very back. He and Mr. Stark sat up in the first two seats and left the one in the back for Happy to occupy by himself.
The ride started and Peter felt something familiar during takeoff. A flicker of something he hadn't felt since Spider-Man, since he lost his powers and stopped caring that he lost them. There was a rush that came with slicing through the air and looping upside and also, a genuine laugh that escaped from him as he listened to Happy's terrified screams coming from behind them.
It wasn't until the ride screeched to a halt back at the beginning that Peter realized that he did care about losing his powers. For the first time, he wanted them back. Desperately.
"I hate both of you," said Happy.
Peter laughed again as they exited the cart, but this time, it was forced.
Mr. Stark wore the same expression, and his eyes were still behind his sunglasses. Though his hair now stuck up in several different directions, Mr. Stark seemed completely unphased by the ride. It was Happy that stopped to lean over into a trashcan and puke up the turkey leg.
It was a short-sighted scheme. Of course, Iron Man wouldn't be phased by a roller coaster in Disneyland.
"Wanna go again?" asked Mr. Stark.
Peter looked back at the Incredicoaster. "Yeah."
He did want to ride again, and not just to fill Mr. Stark's quota. He wanted to feel close to Spider-Man, as close as a roller coaster would let him get, anyway.
"I'm sitting this one out," said Happy.
Peter shared a grin with Mr. Stark, but they didn't pressure him anymore. They got back in fast lane, rode the coaster more than five times, and by the time they left the park, Peter didn't really care about the cameras and people anymore. He was too exhausted. Tired enough, even, to allow himself to fall asleep on Mr. Stark on the drive home.
Later that evening Peter sat by the pool with his feet dipper into the water.
At some point his bedroom stopped being his favorite place in the Malibu house, and it became right there, poolside, where he had good view of the ocean down below. It was seconded only to the workshop. Sometimes Mr. Stark let him blow up stuff with the Death Star, but they were running out of things to destroy.
He heard the door behind him slide open, and when Mr. Stark sat down beside him, Peter thanked the stars up above for being out. Better them than the sun and having Iron Man chase him down with a bottle of sunscreen again.
"Did you have fun today?" asked Mr. Stark.
"Yeah," said Peter. "I just… don't like people taking pictures. They're not going to leave me alone now, though, are they?"
"Afraid not."
Peter suspected as much. He figured it was worth it, though. He rather have to deal with the drama of being Tony Stark's ward than the drama of belonging to the state. He also suspected today was more about getting Peter used to the attention than it was about fun. Mr. Stark did always seem like the type that would throw someone in the deep end to teach them to swim.
"You did good," said Mr. Stark. "When we get back to the city it'll almost be like you were born a Stark."
Peter gripped the edges of the pool a bit tighter. He knew Mr. Stark didn't mean anything by the comment, but the thought terrified him, the thought of losing himself completely and becoming a whole other person. He already lost so much of his old life. He already lost May.
"Mr. Stark," said Peter. He wasn't brave enough to ask before, but in that moment, he was more afraid of what might happen to him if he didn't. "Why did my aunt leave?"
He thought about it all the time. He wondered how the conversation between Mr. Stark and Aunt May went when they decided to change his life forever without his consent.
"I don't know, Peter."
"It's because Spider-Man."
"No."
"Yes, it is. Everything was fine before then, that's when everything got messed up."
"Look Peter, it's got nothing to do with you," said Mr. Stark. Peter knew what he was going to say next. "She's figuring some things out."
He always said that, and it just made Peter believe he had something to hid, convinced him even further that he was right. May didn't want a superhero teenager. She wanted a normal teenager. How could he want his powers back and his aunt at the same time? And how could he sit out by the pool and let Mr. Stark comfort him when he knew he was lying?
It made his head spin, so he sighed, and nodded, and let Mr. Stark think he believed him. Peter could lie, too.
Peter didn't get out of the bed the next day.
He laid on his back and stared at the ceiling, blinking slow and silent tears away. The grief hit him when he woke up, and it was disorientating. He'd been feeling better. He'd been starting to enjoy Malibu, with all its sunshine and warmth. Now he was back where he started, pulling his comforter over his head and waiting with a bit of dread for Mr. Stark or Pepper to force him out of bed.
He didn't feel up to dealing with another one of Mr. Stark's schemes. He didn't even feel up to floating around in the pool or asking Mr. Stark to supervise him while he blew up stuff with the Death Star.
He just wanted to be left alone in his bedroom, to be empty and broken where no one could see that he was empty and broken. That way he wouldn't have to feel weak or guilty about still feeling sad when everyone around him tried their best to make everything okay. It wasn't fair. Not for him, or for Mr. Stark, or for Pepper, for this emptiness and numbness to sneak up on him right at the very moment he thought he was getting better.
A soft knock on his door marked the end of his alone time. He wiped his eyes with the back of his hand, flipped over on his belly and buried his face in one of his pillows. As the door slowly creaked open, Peter assumed it was Pepper's turn to drag him out of bed. She was the gentle one, but when Peter heard a worried, tired sigh as the bed dipped down, he knew it was Mr. Stark.
He played dead. He didn't move or breath to loudly or do anything at all to communicate to Mr. Stark that he was awake. He hoped, maybe, Mr. Stark would take pity on him and let him sleep.
He put his hand on Peter's back, the same way he had that night he almost died from alcohol and food allergies, and it took him a bit to realize it wasn't in attempt to pull him from his dreams. Mr. Stark probably knew he was awake, probably heard about his distress from FRIDAY, and probably his hand was there for comfort.
Peter relaxed a bit. There'd be no more schemes. Not in that moment.
"I'm sorry, Pete," he said, and Peter frowned into the pillow. He hadn't been expecting an apology. It came out of nowhere, just like Peter's grief, and now that Mr. Stark was apologizing, he was certain the man didn't have anything to apologize for. "I keep trying to make things better for you, but I'm in over for head here. I don't know what I'm doing, and you just keep getting hurt."
Peter wondered if he was talking about his crushed phone, or riding around on roller coasters that was fun, at first, until it reminded him of what he didn't have and why he could never have it again. Or maybe he could. He still remembered Mr. Stark's confidence that night on the beach. If he still had a vision for Spider-Man, maybe that was enough to keep it going until Peter could see it again, too.
He lifted his face, shifted under the comforter and Mr. Stark's hand, and turned around.
"I heal fast."
At least he used to.
"And it's not your fault," said Peter. He sat up slowly. "At least you try and sometimes you get it right and you know, you're around-"
Mr. Stark cut him off by putting his arms around his frame and holding on tight. Peter didn't understand it, how or why his depression seemed to affect everyone around him so much. Hell, he didn't understand why Mr. Stark cared about him so much in the first place, or why he was holding onto him like that, like he might be dragged away or under a riptide if he let go.
He didn't want to question it, though, or attribute it to the faint smell of alcohol on Mr. Stark's breath or his guilt. He just wanted to be there with Mr. Stark. He'd been wrong before. Being empty and broken was worse when he was alone.
"What can I do to help you today, Pete?"
He paused. His first instinct was to tell him that he just wanted to go back to sleep, but he knew, even if it was annoying, that Mr. Stark was right. He couldn't sleep his life away. This was the first time he got to choose the way he coped, and he wanted to show Mr. Stark he could make good decisions on his own, without his helicoptering. Besides, he truly did think of something better than sleeping.
Peter wiggled out of his hold, and hesitantly, Mr. Stark let him.
"Could we… watch a movie? In the theater?"
"I'm invited?" asked Mr. Stark, with an arched eyebrow. Peter nodded, and Mr. Stark jumped off the bed. "Alright, let's do it, then."
Peter stood up, ready to follow Mr. Stark down to the theater, but also, not completely ready to leave his bed behind. He made a compromise and stripped the comforter away from his bed. Mr. Stark looked him up and down.
"Really?" he asked. "We had blankets in the theater, in the closet –"
"-I like this one," said Peter.
He just sighed and let Peter struggle with the linguists of moving a king sized comforter down a flight of stairs and into the theater.
Mr. Stark split off to the kitchen to get some snacks, leaving Peter to enter the theater alone. He threw his comforters in the front seats, then looked down. It was a mess of empty soda cans and candy wrappers and empty chip bags. Apparently, when Mr. Stark locked the theater, it was locked even to the housekeeper.
He stared at it, then acted on impulse. He picked up as many as he could carry at one time and dumped them in the trash can near the door. He went back just one last time for the rest, until it was gone, until there were just a few crumbs littering the floor.
When Mr. Stark came back, he had a giant bowl of popcorn he sat between them, a soda for Peter and a bottle of water for himself.
"Star Wars?"
"Nah," said Peter. "I'm tired of that one. You pick."
The giant screen in front of them came to life, and soon Peter was lost again. This time on the sea, with pirates, instead of in space with rebels. He wasn't lost, alone, either, and somehow, that made all the difference.
A/N: annndd that concludes the california part of this story. I know this part has been a bit of a mess, but now I'm home and back to my regular life, I want to update this more consistently with longer chapters that make more sense. I do have to finish up another series though, so it might be bit before the next chapter of this is up.
Thanks so much for all of you reading! There's so many and I didn't expect this story to grow this fast.
Shoutout to Jhessill, maili-chan, xSapphirexrosesxFanx, Tiff, BlondeMess, Phoenixhp5, EmilyF.6, cargumentluv, Lastine, poohbear123, and Applsd for your thoughts on the last chapter! I loved reading them, and I'm glad I'm not the only one who likes the idea of Tony building an actual Death Star.
