Ben, Peter reflects, is everywhere.
He's in the kitchen, in the nice pots and pans because Ben was the only one who could cook (and alright, fine, Peter skimped out one Christmas and just bought him some nice kitchen supplies. In Peter's defence, Ben seemed happy).
He's in Peter's closet, in the sweaters and shirts and in Peter's rolled up sleeves because his clothing was far too big but they couldn't bear to throw his clothes out so they sit in Peter's closet, and sometimes, they hang over his shoulders and on him and he breathes in Ben's scent when he's feeling lonely and misses him.
Ben sits in May's voice when it cracks, he stills in the way that Peter turns to his left ever so slightly when he makes a pun, his presence bleeds everywhere and it hurts.
"I'd like to think that he would be proud of me," Peter tells Tony, pressing his head against Tony's shoulder and closing his eyes. May is out for the night, working overtime (because she never would say no to an extra shift, even when Tony says I can help financially and May says, eyes burning, there are people who need it more than we do and that isn't pride, it's kindness), and as such Peter's at Tony's.
(What Peter will not admit, what May will not admit, is that it's Ben's anniversary tomorrow, and May will spend the whole day with Peter, he knows it and she knows it but she needs this time alone, to grieve, to think, to stop and step away from her boy so that she can break just a little without worrying about him.)
"He always said do the right thing, you know?" Peter gnaws on his lower lip, "I never knew my dad, and maybe... maybe this is wrong to think, but I always thought, I was grateful in some way that I didn't because Ben was the best." He laughs a bit, "I'm awful."
"No, no," Tony cards his fingers through Peter's hair, thoughtful and slow, the action deliberate and firm. "When I was young..." he cuts himself off, and then starts afresh, "You're lucky to have had your uncle. It sounds like he was an amazing man."
"He was," Peter hums, "May always said that he completed her. It was cheesy but he did."
"And now she's different?" Tony's fingers slow a little as his mind drifts.
"She's quieter," Peter notices but doesn't comment, "But you can't tell. She's better now. It was right after the funeral that you could really see it."
Tony nods, though Peter can't see him.
"Did she cry a lot?"
"All the time," Peter closes his eyes, "But she never wanted me to see. Even when she was in mourning, she was thinking about how it would affect me."
That kind of love, Peter thinks, is priceless.
"Amazing," Tony breathes.
"Yeah," Peter sighs, "Uncle Ben always said that he was lucky that she fell for a guy like him, and she always said that it was vice versa."
They were so in love that it hurt, sometimes, watching them and wondering if he could ever have a love like that, strong and powerful and gentle and selfless.
"I know how that feels," Tony says, expression softening a bit.
(Peter can just tell that he's thinking of Pepper.)
"It's nice to be in love with someone," he reflects, "but it's a lot harder when they leave you."
"That's love for you," Tony laughs a bit, "You've summed it up pretty well, kid."
Peter purses his lips together, suddenly feeling odd, talking about Ben with Tony. They've always been something separate, a Before and After. A defined line lay between the two. "Do you think that it was for the better that he died?" he asks quietly, "If he hadn't, I might never have become Spider-man."
Tony is silent.
Peter is suddenly aware of everything.
The hum of Tony's arc reactor buzzing against his chest, the pillow squashed under his legs, his shoulder against the couch arm and Tony's fingers in his hair.
He wonders how awfully Tony must think of him for asking such a question.
"My answer is a bit selfish," Tony finally laughs self-deprecatingly. "I'm too biased, I think."
"Everyone's biased," Peter says.
Tony chews on his lower lip, "If I could find a way to bring him back and make you happy," he says slowly, methodically, "If it could have just never have happened. If he had never died. That would be nice. You'd be happy, yeah? But I don't regret that it happened. It's selfish but I'm glad to have met you. And I'm happy to have met you."
"That's not selfish, Mr. Stark," Peter laughs, "That's one of the nicest things that you've ever said to me."
"Yeah, well," Tony goes bright red, "Don't get used to it."
They fall quickly onto other, safer, topics, to playing Mario Kart and debating which Musical was better (Tony thought Hamilton, Peter rolls his eyes and says of course you do, Mr. Stark as Tony squawks indignantly what do you mean of course) and Peter smiles a bit when he thinks of Tony saying I'm happy to have met you.
(It has been a year since Ben's death, and Peter's doing better.)
Then, of course, Peter has to think of the conversation at hand as Tony sputters and waves his hands in the air, "What do you mean you think that Luigi is better than Mario? He's literally... he's literally the title character!"
"You don't understand, Mr. Stark," Peter sighs, "Luigi is the best because..."
Flash brings a ukulele to school because he's a weirdo along with a black folder full of sheet music.
"Its collateral," he sighs dramatically as he sits down on the piano bench next to Peter and starts strumming. "You need to do the chords for Pokerface."
Peter can't help it, he lights up, smile widening and eyes brightening as he claps his hands together (he feels like an excited kid in kindergarten but he's too excited to care about how this seems from the outside), "We're doing a sing-along?"
"Ooh yeah," MJ rolls over in a bright orange spinny chair (very pointedly ignoring Flash as he looks up at the ceiling and mutters to himself don't even ask, Thompson, you know that it's going to be some weird shit), "We're killing all the eardrums today."
"You're actually a good singer," Ned sighs from where he's sitting with his back to the wall, next to the piano, "Why would you rope me into this?"
"Because you've got a good voice," MJ raises an eyebrow, "Do not fight me. It is an unwise decision."
"I make my own decisions," Ned says, but he very wisely does not argue. "I don't remember most of the lyrics for this song."
"Collateral," Flash groans as he hands Ned some sheet music, "It's got the chords and lyrics on it."
"Don't be so reluctant, Thompson," MJ grins, "One would almost think that you weren't doing this willingly."
Flash strums a few chords, tuning his ukulele, and then he glares at MJ, "Because I'm not?"
MJ waves a hand carelessly, "Tosh."
Peter laughs.
"She blackmailed you?" He asks.
"Shut up, dude!" Flash groaned, burying his face in his hands, "No, look, she just has something that I want, and I have to play and sing with you in order to get it, okay?"
"Um," Peter exchanges looks with Ned, as Ned sighs, "Look, dude, I hate to break it to you, but that sounds a lot like blackmail."
Peter nods in agreement with Ned.
"It's not," Flash plays with his hoodie strings. He's steadily becoming more and more flustered, "Let's just play, okay?"
"No, man, what's she got on you?"
"I'm not blackmailing him, guys," MJ decides that she's had enough of her amusement watching them flounder like this, and taps her fingers on the arm of her spinny chair. "It's obviously the other side of the corruption scale, I'm bribing him."
"With what?" Peter wheels onto Flash.
Flash idly plays Riptide, moving in slower movements than the original song sounds like, "She, uh, has the Phillip Keveren series for the Beatles arrangements."
"Omigosh," Ned's face lights up in very obvious, not-at-all-subtle delight. "You like the Beatles?"
"Yes. No. Ugh. I knew that this was going to happen."
"You are now being absorbed into this friend group," Ned said, serious and yet bright-eyed, "This is a thing. You like the Beatles, I can forgive every jerk thing that you've ever done up until now."
"Dude," Flash groaned, "I have avoided talking about the Beatles for this long, I can continue without it."
"But do you want to?" Peter joins in the fray, pressing his shoulder up against Flash's.
"Song," Flash squeaks.
"He knows how to play Here Comes the Sun on the piano," MJ calls out, just to cause a bit of extra chaos.
Flash dodges any requests by strumming the beginning chords of Pokerface and starts singing loudly (and weirdly in tune).
MJ sighs dramatically, but she pokes Ned and they join in, leaving Peter to scramble to play the chords on the piano (he knows them by heart, but it's odd, playing with his friends' voices in the background, and it's not fair why is everyone so good at singing except for him).
Someway through Pokerface, a girl walks up to them and asks if they take requests and they end up playing Neptune by Sleeping at Last and it continues until Peter is too tired to sightread and Flash's fingers have slowed and the bell rings.
"Perfect timing!" MJ beams as Flash gathers his papers, "See you guys next week!"
"Wait, but the sheet music..."
"Soon," MJ grins in a way that says that Flash isn't receiving it anytime soon.
(Somehow, Peter thinks, looking at the pleased little smile sitting on Flash's lips, he doesn't seem to mind that much.)