Chapter Eleven
"Everyone all set," Clint asked, looking over his shoulder with a grin. "I have to say, I can't wait to get home. Cooper and Lila are gonna be so excited."
Peter wrapped his fingers around the belt that strapped him into the seat. He'd flown before in the Quinjet but that time he was injured, and his mind was elsewhere. Truth be told, Peter didn't care for planes—not since his parents died in a crash. Who would after something like that, but he felt surprisingly safe with Natasha and Clint at the helm.
He looked over to his right and Tony was watching him with worried eyes like he expected him to shatter at any moment—like he was made of glass. Bruce was behind him and Peter could feel his eyes on him as well, boring into the back of his skull. It was hard getting used to being the center of attention.
He felt tired, not in the way that you needed sleep, but in the way your soul ached for rest. He had been through so much. Part of him wanted to go to Clint's house, but another wanted to be in the city, doing his job, finding the alien tech, proving his worth. He felt like he was letting down New York, letting down his Uncle's memory. What if Steve and Thor couldn't find the guy? What if someone got hurt? It would be on him, no one else. Protecting Queens was his job.
There was a weightless shift beneath him, making his stomach do a little flip, and then they were off. Peter closed his eyes and rested his head back. Tony had told him it wouldn't be a long trip in the jet which he was thankful for as he quickly discovered flying wasn't for him. It was overwhelming for his senses—the noise, the vibrations, the thoughts of his parents. It made his head hurt—his heart hurt.
"You alright, Peter." Tony's voice cut through his thoughts. "You're looking a little a pale."
Peter didn't particularly want to open his eyes, let alone talk, so he decided on nod, knowing it wasn't likely to satisfy the eccentric genius.
"I didn't peg you for one to get motion sick," Clint said from upfront.
Peter let out the breath he was holding. "It's just a lot. My senses are enhanced," he said, then whispered low. "And my parents, they died in a plane crash."
A heavy silence hung in the air. It was like no one dared speak for fear of upsetting him more. He didn't mean to make them feel like that. He felt bad for making things awkward. It wasn't like he was made of glass.
"I'm sorry, sweetie," Natasha said, breaking the silence.
Peter looked up to see her soft eyes looking at him. The sincerity in them was so clear. She truly cared.
"It's okay," Peter said, looking down, unable to hold her gaze. "It was a long time ago."
"That doesn't mean it makes it any easier," Clint chimed in. "It's okay for it to still hurt."
"Clint's right," Tony said. "I lost my parents, too. I've never stopped missing them, but the hurt gets better."
He lifted his head and looked to Tony. Something about knowing that they shared a similar past eased Peter's mind. For the first time in a long time, he felt like maybe there was someone he could relate to and be open with about his past.
Peter bit at his lip and gave Tony a small nod. "Thanks."
"Just try to relax. We'll be there before you know it," Tony said.
The rest of the trip went quickly—as quickly as it could anyway while you felt like puking and crying at the same time. Bruce and Tony chattered away about a few projects they were working on while Natasha and Clint talked about how excited the kids were gonna be to see them.
Peter wondered where he would fit into all this. It had been a long time since he'd been around a family, especially a loving one like Clint's sounded. It almost made him sad and he wasn't even sure why it did. It scared him in a way. It was like he didn't know how to act, how to be loved anymore. He wasn't sure he deserved it. He could still remember all too well the things that Jack would say to him, the things that cut him deeply, breaking him apart. As cheesy at it sounded, it felt like he was Cinderella, and this was his ball—only a matter of time before it all came crashing down.
"Here we are, home sweet home," Clint said cheerfully.
The Quinjet landed and Peter fumbled with his seatbelt. He was a bundle of nerves. Once he was free, he stood and looked to Bruce and Tony who were already standing beside him.
"You ready?" Bruce asked soft eyes studying him.
Peter swallowed. He wished he could be honest—shout how unready he was, but he couldn't. The words weren't there, so he just nodded and looked down. He thought he heard Tony sigh.
"Come on, kiddo," Tony said. "I think Clint and Natasha want to introduce you to some people."
The hatch opened, and they made their way out. It was beautiful in its simplicity there. Peter had never been anywhere quite like it. There were fields of high grass edged by a dense tree line and stone walls, the fields divided by wooden fences.
It wasn't anything like the city. The lines of the landscape weren't harsh and cold. It didn't assault his senses. Instead, it was soothing and gentle. He drew a calming breath, tasting the sweet, clean air. He jumped when he heard a strange noise, gaining a laugh from Tony.
"That would be one of his sheep," Tony said. "Bastard's got a regular Old McDonald's Farm thing going on here."
Peter walked past Tony and up to the wooden fence, touching the grayed wood and looking out into the field at the three sheep that were roaming there. It was so peaceful.
"Daddy!" Came a small voice, causing Peter to spin and look. Running up from an old farmhouse with a large wrap around porch was a small girl, arms outstretched, eyes locked on Clint.
"Lila! Baby girl, come here!" Clint said, running up to her.
A young boy with short brown hair wasn't far behind. He was the spitting image of his father.
Clint picked up the girl, swinging her in the air. When the boy reached them, Clint knelt and hugged them both tightly.
A woman appeared on the porch, a hand on the small of her back. It was then that Peter noticed she looked to be pregnant. Natasha smiled and ran up to her.
"Laura, how's my little Natasha?" Natasha asked, putting her hand on the woman's belly.
"It's more of a little Nathaniel," she laughed.
Natasha spun and scowled at Clint. "You had one job, Barton."
Clint threw his head back and laughed. He let go of the kids and turned to Peter. Nodding his head, motioning for him to come closer.
Peter hesitated for a moment. He felt like he was intruding, like he didn't belong. They all knew each other so well and he was there as an outsider, a broken mess of an outsider. He was starting to feel like maybe this had been a bad idea.
"It's okay, Peter," Tony said whispered. "I'll be right beside you. Nothing to worry about. You're safe here."
Tony's gentle hand rested on his back. He suppressed a flinch. It wasn't Tony's fault. The man had done nothing wrong. Jack had created that reaction and Peter still held onto the memories of it. He wished he could move on from it, but it he didn't know how.
Together, they walked up to meet Clint's family.
Clint was grinning ear to ear, an arm around his wife. "Peter, this is Laura. My wife." He reached and ruffled the boy's hair. "This trouble maker here is Cooper and this cutie is my girl Lila."
"Hi," Peter said, raising his hand in a small wave. "Nice to meet you."
"Nice to meet you, too, Peter," Laura said with a warm smile. "I just made some lunch. How about we all head in and have something to eat? Then Cooper and Lila can show you where you'll be staying."
Natasha chatted with Laura on the walk back into the house, the kids clinging to Clint. Bruce gathered their bags from the jet while Peter followed behind Tony.
The house was warm and inviting. Everyone else seemed to be chit chatting away about various thing, but Peter was quiet. He felt uncomfortable even though he logically knew he shouldn't. He didn't deserve this kind of place, this kind of warmth.
Jack's voice was echoing in his mind.
You're a waste of skin. You don't deserve a family. You're nothing.
He felt his hands begin to shake and he clenched them into fists, squeezing his eyes shut, trying to block out his own torturous thoughts. His nails dug into his palms, the little stabs of pain grounding him.
The room suddenly seemed to go quiet. Peter couldn't tell if he was lost in his mind or if everyone had fallen silent.
Suddenly, a soft voice spoke to him. "It's okay, Peter." It was Natasha. "You're okay. Tony is right here. I'm right here. We all are."
Peter tried to focus on her voice, but knowing they were all watching him fall apart was too much. His hairs stood on end, and without thought, he bolted for the door.
"Peter, Wait!" Clint called after him.
Peter just needed to get away though. He just needed to feel the wind on his face. He wanted to be high up and above it all. He glanced around and saw a silo. He ran to the ladder and scaled it quickly. He didn't look behind him to see if he was followed. His heart was hammering in his chest. Jack's words were still playing on repeat in his mind. He didn't deserve what they were offering. Clint's family was perfect—he'd just tarnish that, bring them down. He was broken.
He reached the top of the silo and sat down, catching his breath, his hands shaking still.
He glanced back towards the house. Tony was walking slowly towards him. He looked hurt and it made Peter feel even worse. He wished he could stop having these breakdowns.
Peter drew his knees up and wrapped his arms around them, trying to calm himself. He knew it would only be moments before Tony climbed up the ladder to join him.
"Leave it to you to find something tall," Tony said. "Have I mentioned I don't like heights, well, that is without my suit."
"Sorry," Peter said, looking over his shoulder at Tony who was carefully scooting over to him.
"I fully expect you to catch me with your webs if I fall," Tony said. "I have imagined plenty of ways to die but falling off a grain silo wasn't one of them." Tony finally wriggled over to him, thankfully without falling. "So, want to tell me what happened back there?"
Peter shrugged. "It's hard to explain."
"Try me."
Peter rested his head on his arms, looking out over the fields. "I don't deserve this."
"What do you mean you don't deserve this? Of course, you do. What would make you think that?"
Peter sat quietly for a moment, not sure how to respond. He drew a breath, exhaling slowly, trying to stop the ache in his chest from turning to a full meltdown. "He used to say things, when he was hitting me, telling me things. I guess maybe I still believe some of it."
"Peter," Tony sighed. "I need you to listen to me. I know it's hard, but you need to believe me about this. Nothing that piece of shit said to you was true."
"He would say I was nothing, not worth a family as he … as he hit me. It was hard not to believe him after a while."
He heard Tony groan. "Peter, I know you don't want us to hurt him, but I … It's going to take everything I have not to kill him. What he did to you …"
"It's okay, really. I'm fine."
"This isn't fine," Tony said. "This is lightyears from fine. You're shaking like a leaf. That's why I wanted to bring you here, so you can relax and let us help you. We all care about you, kiddo."
Peter looked over at Tony. "I don't like feeling like this."
"I know." Tony's calloused hand rested on his neck and rubbed it gently. "We'll make this better. I promise, but can we get the hell down from here?" He laughed. "I think the others are probably worrying about where you went."
"I'm sorry," Peter said. "I didn't mean to upset everyone."
"Easy, kiddo," Tony said. "Stop blaming yourself. This isn't your fault. Now what do you say we head in and grab some of Laura's lemon bars before Clint devours them all?"
Peter nodded. "Thanks for everything, Mr. Stark."
Tony squeezed his shoulder and then made to climb down. "No problem, kiddo. Now can we blow this popsicle stand or what?"
"Yeah, let's go," Peter said with nod.