Back at it again with another long one! This one clocks in at 10,408 words, so it's massive. Please take care of yourself, do stretches and take a drink at the mid-point. You'll know it when you see it~~ Also, you will notice a few new tags! As in Peter Parkers are all Jewish, I'm going to try and do my best with that, but I am not Jewish, so please be gentle with me, and if any people that are Jewish want to help me with later stuff I would be very appreciative. Or even with this! I'm on discord or I have a tumblr. Bop me in the comments, I always reply~
There is a brief mention of period-typical (to the 1930s) antisemitism, mentioned in context with eugenics in passing as something that happened...in very *vague* terms, as well as completely denounced, but be warned. 1930s science was shit, guys, and a lot of the crap that spawned from the eugenics movement is absolute *bunk*.
There was a pause, Miles and Peter both standing silently as everything that had happened washed over them. Peter kept his head down, something hot heating the back of his neck, his eyes closed. He hadn't wanted to admit any of that. None of that was supposed to happen.
"Thank you," Miles said suddenly, quietly, sending a glance out of the kitchen as though his parents would have stopped to listen when Peter chanced a look at Miles. Peter blinked, looking at him in surprise, not sure what he was referring to. "For, um…for saying that I belong with you guys." Miles answered the unasked question, kicked the ground, looking away, and once again trying to put his hands into pockets he didn't have. "I know that I'm new at this whole thing and I…"
"Of course, you belong," Peter said quietly, but firmly, interrupting him, his back straightening as he looked at Miles, his mouth in a slight frown. "You always belonged. It just…took you a bit to get that, but you did, and you're here. Anyone that tries to take that from you is a twit, and I'll cut 'em."
Miles blinked, his eyes widening, before he finally burst out into loud and wild laughter, uneasiness obviously forgotten. Peter felt a warmth in his chest, probably heartburn, and looked away. "Thank you," Miles finally said, a bright smile still on his face.
"I only speak the truth, Miles," Peter said. "Well. Sometimes." Miles laughed and then nodded to the eggs.
"Do you want to try my omelets?" he asked. Peter forced himself to give a bit of a grin.
"Sure," he said.
"It's probably a mistake," Miles said, a slight smile on his face. "I don't really know how to make them all that well." He shrugged, a sheepish smile on his face.
"If you want, I could teach you…" Peter offered, giving his own shrug.
"You do that in exchange for me teaching you about some colors later, how does that sound?" Miles counteroffered, grinning as bright as possible.
Peter hesitated, frowning, before giving a solid nod. "Yeah. That…that sounds pretty good." He stood up and moved to the stove, frowning at the omelet that had been in progress, poking at it with his spatula, and finally shrugged. He dumped it on his plate and wolfed it down without thought. Miles laughed at him quietly.
"I wondered if you were holding back," Miles said, speaking quietly. "My mom and dad wouldn't have minded if you really went for it, they're getting the whole metabolism pretty well… Mom felt Peter B's pulse and almost had a heart attack herself, so…"
"How hungry are you?" Peter asked equally quietly, ignoring the comment. It still didn't feel very polite. "Did you eat enough?" Miles hesitated, his expression shifting slightly. Peter felt a burning anger rise as he stared at him, his mouth pulling into a frown. "If you think for one second that you have to…"
"Peter," Miles interrupted, his voice firm, before taking another step towards him. "This is my house, those are my parents, everything in this house is stuff I have access to, including the fridge. I can get food anytime I want it. I…I get that you're from a different time, and that you've got a whole bunch of expectations and…" Miles gripped Peter's arms tightly, looking up at his face, his eyes wide and worried. "I'm not pitying you, man. I just want to help. Did you think less of any of the people that stood in your line?"
"No," Peter answered immediately.
"Then let me help, alright? Let us help. I get that you can't stay here. I get that you…I get that you don't want to be pitied, but I love you too, okay?" he whispered, "So let me help. Eat the rest."
Peter hesitated, staring down into the wide earnest eyes that met his, and finally looked away.
"Okay," he said. Miles pulled him into a tight hug, one that Peter wasn't expecting at all. For a moment he stood there frozen, his arms stiff, but before he could reciprocate, Miles jumped away as though electrocuted, clearing his throat and rubbing at the back of his head. Miles finally straightened and gave him a nod.
"Sorry about that, I just…" Miles hesitated, cleared his throat, and finally pointed at the eggs. "So, you were gonna teach me?"
"Sure," Peter agreed. "So, what you're going to do first…" he started, and the morning drifted in a haze of making omelets and teaching. By the time they were done, Peter could honestly call himself comfortably full, and Miles had managed to not burn any of the omelets, something he couldn't say about the first few. Peter had eaten them, anyway, not paying attention to Miles' protesting. The feeling of being full was something he hadn't had in so long he almost didn't like it. Miles poked at his stomach with a grin when they finally finished with the omelets.
"You aren't careful you're gonna look even more like Peter B than you already do," Miles laughed.
"Given what I look like normally, I'm gonna call that an improvement," Peter returned, and Miles' expression dropped visibly, his eyes widening. Then he frowned when Peter allowed himself to wink.
"You're a jerk," Miles said, and Peter grinned.
"Guilty," Peter responded.
"Yeah, well, help me clean up, would you?" Miles asked, and pulled…
"What's that?" Peter asked, his eyes wide as he looked at the device that Miles had opened, taking in the plates and silverware placed in their little allocated places, his eyes tracking everything.
"Oh, this is a dishwasher," Miles answered. "You stick your dirty dishes inside, and it washes them for you. Some things are too big, or can't go into it, like that skillet, or the bowl we used for the eggs, but you put all your other stuff in there, and it just cleans everything up."
"That's amazing," Peter said, ducking down to get a closer look at it, looking at the insides in curiosity. "Fuck, I would have loved this when I was helping with the breadline. I hated washing all those dishes by hand…"
"Did you have to do it yourself?"
"My uncle Ben would…" Peter hesitated, "well…when he was alive, he would help me," Peter finally mustered the will to finish. "We did our best to help with everything. Food prep, actually cooking, cleaning…" he stood upright then, frowning at the counter, not looking at Miles. "I got ribbed for it sometimes, women's work they called it, but I figure if I can cook then that's a lot more independence than some of these twits have."
Miles nodded. "Yeah, it's a good thing to know how to do. I've been helping my mom in the kitchen periodically, though I should probably help more," he said, putting more stuff in the dishwasher as he did so. Peter moved to get the pan and had turned the water to warm and started scrubbing after pouring some of the liquid soap on the sponge, rolling his sleeves up properly before he did so. Peter took a moment after he had finished with the egg bowl to dry his hands and looked again at the shirt he was wearing.
"Miles, you said…you said you washed my things?" he asked. Miles immediately snapped his fingers.
"I did, yeah! Would you like to get changed back into them?"
"Yes please, I think two days is long enough," Pete answered, sighing. "Can I…can I also use your shower?"
"Oh, absolutely!" Miles led him out and headed to the laundry room. "I'm so sorry, I didn't even think about it."
"I didn't mention it," Peter answered, shrugging slightly. He followed Miles into the laundry room, taking in the odd…machines against the wall, and then trailing his gaze over to Miles, who was busy pulling his clothes out of a basket. Peter felt himself relax upon seeing the black clothes that took all the odd light and reflected it back in the white and gray that he knew so well. It soothed a small part of him.
Peter felt his blood turn to ice as a bit of fabric fell away from the pile Miles was holding, a couple more pieces falling as well. Miles stared down at the bundle in his arms in horror, taking a few steps back and taking a better look at what fell. Miles put the bundle down and then started rooting through it to see what the cause was, falling to his knees as he did so.
It was his uncle's coat.
Peter's breath caught in his throat, falling to his own knees, taking the bits of fabric between his fingers. Miles looked like he was about to cry.
"I'm so sorry!" Miles gasped, staring at the pieces. "I didn't know that would happen, I just…I put it in the washing machine, I didn't think that it would… I'm so sorry!"
"I was going to thank you boys for cleaning…" Rio's voice called as she came into the laundry room, only to freeze at the sight of them kneeling on the floor with a pile of black fabric. "Oh!" she gasped. "Miles, Pete, what happened?"
"It was my uncle's coat…" Peter said softly, barely even realizing he was speaking, his lips numb. Miles clapped his hands to his mouth, eyes starting to water, even as Rio took a step back, looking at the pieces with shock in her face. Peter started slowly collecting pieces, taking them from the pile and putting them together carefully.
"Oh, sweetie," Rio was on her knees next to him suddenly. "I'm so sorry…do you…do you have all of the pieces?" she asked. Miles started helping him collect pieces, pulling them out of the bundle of clothes and putting it in a pile, finally shaking out the rest of the clothes to make sure he had everything.
Peter began carefully matching them together and as he did so slowly felt the slightest stirrings of relief in his heart. They were there, everything was there, the seams had just…given up. Peter could sew it; he could repair it… He barely felt the feather-light touch on his arm, and when he finally looked towards what was causing it to see Rio staring at him with wide and worried eyes, he cleared his throat, straightening.
"I can…I can repair it," he finally said softly. "All of the parts are here… It's okay."
"I'm so sorry," Miles moaned.
"It's okay," Peter responded, and put a hand on his shoulder carefully, keeping his breathing light and calm. "You didn't know it would happen; it was an…it was an accident. I just need a needle and thread and I can piece it together." Peter looked at the rest of his clothes and made a face at realizing just how torn some of it was. His shirt would never work as a shirt again, and the only thing that seemed mostly intact were his pants and the underwear that came with it, as well as his socks. He hoped that they wouldn't notice the holes that were starting to become apparent in his socks and underthings. He hadn't had time to darn anything, and it was hard running around on a shoestring budget. He found his boots at that thought, leaning up against the wall. They also looked intact.
Rio was looking at his clothes thoughtfully, and then looked at the torn-up remains of his shirt.
"What size are you?" she asked.
Peter stiffened. "You…" Peter hesitated, looking at her with wide eyes. "I can't take clothing from you." He finally managed softly.
"Do you have the means to buy anything to replace it?" Rio asked, putting her hands on her hips, an eyebrow rising.
Peter blinked, and then began pulling at his trouser pocket, finally pulling out…
"Oh…" he said softly. The gray mush in his hand could barely be considered paper, let alone money, let alone the two perfectly pristine dollars he had started with. "Oh."
"I didn't even think to check your pants' pockets!" Miles moaned, staring at the lump of paper in his hand. "I didn't even… Oh god, I'm so sorry," Miles wailed, putting his hands to his mouth. "There was so much in your coat, I didn't even…"
"It's okay," Pete finally managed, his voice thin. "It's okay."
"Well, in that case we owe you," Rio said, her voice firm. "What size are you?"
Peter hesitated, thinking. It had been so long since he actually had a shirt that fit him and even then, he wasn't sure what size he would be. He'd lost so much weight… "I…" Peter started. "I don't know?"
Rio frowned slightly, looking him over. "I think a medium might fit, your shoulders are what's worrying me… Black, long-sleeved, right?" she asked.
"…Please," he finally answered, nodding. "It can be plain; I can customize it if I need to."
"Alright," Rio smiled at him. "You two boys enjoy yourself, okay? I'm going to go to the store, I have a few things to pick up anyway, so this would be a good time. Are you two boys going to be okay on your own for a while?" she asked.
"We'll be fine, mom!" Miles answered, though he still looked vaguely ill. Peter took a breath and stood up shakily as she left. He couldn't look at the pieces anymore, couldn't look at the torn-up legacy of his uncle, at more evidence of his failure. He stumbled out of the laundry room without looking back. After a moment he felt Miles behind him, the hum of his spidersense ringing with familiarity.
"Pete…" Miles said softly. "I'm so…"
"Don't," Peter said, shaking his head. After a moment he turned to look at Miles, a slight frown on his face. "You've already apologized, I've already said it's fine. Accidents happen, you had no idea that your…machine would break the thread in my coat. It was already going to be torn up from…Curt, anyway, Miles. My shirt was completely ruined. I got a pair of claws that dug up into me." He paused, putting his hand to his stomach and for the first time really taking in the itching of his skin. "Speaking of, actually, where are my knives?"
"…What are you going to do with them?" Miles asked and Peter was surprised to realize that Miles almost sounded afraid.
"Remove the stitches," Peter responded, rolling his eyes, proceeding to bottle up the hollow emptiness in his chest tighter so it no longer showed. It was stupid anyway; it would be fixed. It only felt like a betrayal to his uncle's memory. "They're starting to itch, and I need to get them out. They're not necessary anymore, anyway."
"But…shouldn't we wait for my mom?" Miles asked, looking back at the door as though hoping she'd come back. "She probably would like to…"
Peter shook his head. "She's doing enough," Peter answered. "I take out my own stitches all the time, always with a knife. It's fine, Miles."
Miles hesitated and then finally nodded. He went into the laundry room.
Peter stayed where he was.
When Miles came back, he was carrying a small laundry basket whose contents rattled together. When he finally put it down, Peter was relieved to see that it was full of his stuff, from the guns to the knives, to the Rubiks cube, to the…wait.
"Miles," Peter said slowly. "Where's my dynamite?"
"I…hid it…where my dad wouldn't see it?" Miles offered, staring at him with wide eyes. "I'll give it to you later, you just wanted a knife, right?"
Peter pursed his lips slightly before giving a slight shrug. He took out one of his switchblades, the blade sharp and glinting, and best of all, free of nicks or breaks once he flicked it open. Peter knew he'd have to sterilize it somehow, though, he wasn't sure when he'd cleaned it last and he didn't want to put that near his skin.
"Do you have alcohol?" he asked, and Miles blinked before snapping his fingers in understanding.
"You need to sterilize it!" he called out. "I'll be right back!" Miles ran out of the room and likely towards the bathroom. When he came back, he was holding a clear bottle of something that he put on the ground along with a few wipes. He ran into the kitchen and came back with a bowl. Peter nodded his head in thanks and carefully began cleaning the blade, pouring the alcohol over the knife before wiping it down. Peter hesitated, a part of him wanting to do this alone, but the other part recognizing that Miles would need to be able to do this on his own as well. Finally, he began stripping the shirt off carefully, feeling that odd tug from the stitches that trailed down his torso.
Not for long.
Miles watched with wide and worried eyes as Peter slowly started working from the bottom up after rubbing the cloth over his stitches to sterilize them. He kept his movements slow and steady, deftly cutting each stitch as carefully as possible.
"You've done this a lot, huh?" Miles asked, having sat down at some point, his eyes tracking his movements.
Peter would have felt self-conscious; he knew what he looked like and he knew the discoloration of his chest and the stitches themselves made for one hell of a sight… But he also couldn't find it in himself to care. He needed to take them out. Just one more thing to do. One more thing that went wrong. He let the question go unanswered, his continued movements answer enough.
Peter finally cut through enough that he could start tugging them out, his fingers carefully pinching and pulling the thread out of the wounds. This was always the part that was the worst. It tugged and it always felt particularly odd. But it was best to show the full process, and he couldn't really leave it in there anyway.
"So, um…" Miles started, clearing his throat, still watching with wide and slightly anxious eyes. "When did you learn how to do that?"
"My dad taught me," Peter answered, the words somehow heavy on his tongue. "We didn't have money for the doc, so if any of us got hurt we'd have to do most of the treatments ourselves. I learned how to do stitches in the same way. Got steady hands, so I tended to do them a lot. You'd be amazed at how often someone'd get cut." He huffed out a tiny sigh and then frowned at Miles. "You ever sewn anything?"
Miles blinked, looking up at Pete with wide eyes. "Um…no."
Pete frowned slightly, looking at the remains of his stitches before heaving another sigh. "Where's your mom's first aid kit?"
"What…"
"I'm going to teach you how to stitch yourself up," Pete answered with a slight frown. "You're going to need to know, and it's best to learn on someone else." Miles stood there with his mouth open for a second, and Pete rolled his eyes. "Either you get the first aid kit now without me bleeding, or I'm going to cut my arm right now and make you learn with me bleeding."
Miles ran to get the kit.
Peter smirked slightly and frowned down at the remaining stitches. There were so many, he hadn't been hit like that in a long time. He sat on one side of the couch with his legs crossed underneath him, waiting, frowning at the…television as he waited.
He hoped he'd get a better look at that soon…
Miles ran back finally, holding a rather hefty first-aid kit in his arms, which he dropped onto the couch cushions next to him and then Miles was on the couch himself, facing him across from the kit. Pete immediately began rummaging through, finally finding the hooked needle and the suture thread that he needed. He dipped the needle in the alcohol, rubbed down his forearm, and then held the needle and his arm out for Miles to see.
"Skin's different to fabric," Peter started. "It sounds obvious, but I know that a few people never really start thinking about it until they try and sew it and they realize just how hard it is. For one, you're dealing with more than just skin. Underneath this there's muscle, and you don't really want to sew through that if you can help it. For another, this is obviously not a flat surface that you can change in any direction you want, it's attached to something, and is therefore fixed in its movements. If you want to turn it upside-down you have to be the one doing the moving most of the time."
"Okay, yeah…" Miles nodded, frowning. "That makes sense."
"Alright, now, your needle's hooked, because it's meant to go in and out in as small of a movement as you can handle and as quick as possible." Peter dipped the needle to show the proper motion a few times, Miles staring at it closely. "Another thing that you have to remember is to always knot your thread at the other end. If you just pull it right through without a knot, then your thread will just slide and won't do you any good." He tapped the knot that was still there at the top of his stitches, letting Miles take a good look at it. After Miles nodded, he threaded the needle carefully before taking the string in two fingers once he unspooled enough, biting through the train with his teeth. "Alright, this is a really basic way to tie a knot in thread, but it works and it's easy enough to do with one hand, which is sometimes what you will need if you're trying to apply pressure to a bleeding wound. Which…trust me, you're going to have to remember to do."
Miles nodded, watching as Peter carefully wound the thread over his finger a couple times, spinning the needle and thread around in a circle in order to do so, after making sure he had pinched the string far enough back from the end. Once he did that, he twisted the gathered thread tight together, and then carefully pulled the thread back through the hole created by his finger. He allowed Miles to look at it for a moment, study it, and then Miles took it after he cut the knot with the knife.
"Give it a go, it's kind of tricky…"
Miles practiced a few times, the first couple attempts saw the thread slipping past without tying, but eventually he could tie the knot every time, and the grin across his face was big. Peter had a small smile of his own then, a warm feeling in his chest.
"Alright, good job, Miles," he praised.
"Thank you!" Miles grinned wide. "This is amazing, really, man, thank you."
"Not a problem," Peter answered, shaking his head. "Now, say that I have a cut right here," he indicated the spot he had cleaned on his forearm. "I tend to work from here," he indicated the lower part of his arm, "and towards my body. You can work the other way, but it's easier to start where you can see it." Miles nodded. Peter took the needle back from Miles, sterilized it again, and then his arm, and easy-as-you-please, slid the needle under and through his skin, pulling the thread taut. Miles winced bodily, staring at it with wide eyes. Peter carefully passed the needle through the same way he did the first time, nice, even stitches running up towards his elbow. Blood had welled up by that point, but he carefully wiped it down once it became obscuring. "See how it's even, and I'm going through the same way each time? I'm not going to make you practice on me, but you had better start sewing. It's not exactly the same thing, but it's better than working on actual skin first."
"Alright," Miles answered, nodding, still watching with wide and horrified eyes. "You know…you could have just shown me with fabric?"
"It's easier to see how you have to account for skin and texture changes. If you've got enough hair you might have to shave that out of the way first. Luckily, I don't have that problem, but some do," Pete responded, shrugging. "Don't forget to knot it. An easy way I like to do it is pass the needle through the last stitch you made several times," Pete stopped stitching, demonstrating the proper technique. "Then loop your needle through the little hole you just made here, going the same way you did when you stitched the rest of your wound." He did so carefully, pulling it taut into a knot that used itself for support. "It's the easiest way to do it with one hand and keep the knot close." He cut the trailing thread off and then rethreaded the needle. Quicker this time, he stitched up a part of his arm and held the needle out to Miles. "Practice tying it once."
Miles stared at him, stared at the needle, and then back at him. "What?"
"Practice tying it."
"But what if I stab you?" Miles asked, his eyes wide. Peter laughed, something he knew sounded ugly and bitter, but something he couldn't help.
"Miles, does it really look like I mind being stabbed?" Peter asked with a raised eyebrow. Miles gave a slight smile, though there was something in his eyes that Pete couldn't read, and carefully took the needle in his fingers. "There you go, now I'm not going to move, you've got to figure out how to tie it." Miles nodded and paused for a moment, pulling his arm close carefully, Peter leaning forward with the pull. Miles hesitated, and Peter saw the moment he realized that Peter was going to be deadweight. Peter grinned at the frown that knitted itself between Miles brows and watched as he changed his angle a few times, before standing up and circling the couch. Once Miles got into position, he carefully hooked the needle and…stabbed into Peter's skin. "That's me," Peter said. Miles flinched.
"Sorry!" He exclaimed, pulling back. He tried again and this time managed to slip it under the stitch without stabbing Peter. He grinned big and bright and carefully passed it under again, repeating the motion before looping it through the hole he had made and pulling it tight.
"Good. Now do it under the next stitch, more loops before you tie it off."
Peter made Miles do it three more times before he was satisfied and finally made an approving noise before taking back the needle. "Good job, Miles."
"Thank you…" Miles responded, a wide and bright smile on his face.
"You need to know…" Peter resounded, and finally began cutting it out of his arm with the knife, a lot quicker than when he demonstrated earlier. "When your mom gets home, you're going to help me with my uncle's…with my coat. It'll be good practice."
"Oh, but I've never…" Miles said, his eyes wide.
"It's fine, Miles. If your stitches are that bad, then I'll just redo them. But you need to learn. I'd rather you have some idea what you're doing than let you figure it out on your own when you've never done it before."
Miles hesitated, and then finally nodded. "Thank you…for…for teaching me all this."
"You need to know," Peter repeated. He cut the rest of his stitches out, pulling the thread out with his usual efficiency before looking through the first aid kit for something to cover the suture spots, just for extra protection. He didn't much feel like using his webbing at the moment. For the first time in a long while his spinnerets were fully without pain and he didn't feel like exasperating or otherwise pushing his luck. Finally, he found something that would work and covered them up carefully with gauze and tape. "You're going to want to cover the spot for at least a little while. You won't likely need it for more than a day, if that, but it's good to keep it covered while your healing does the rest."
Once the wounds were properly dressed, he went over and pulled his shirt on, frowning slightly at the smell, but there wasn't much he could do about that until he had something to change into. Miles was too small, and he wasn't wearing anything that belonged to a cop. Besides, this was hardly the first time he got a little rank. He'd just keep his distance.
"Alright, cool, I'll definitely keep that in mind." Miles stood up, putting the first aid kit back where he found it before coming back to flop on the couch next to Peter. "You ready to check out some colors?"
"Yes." Peter tried to bite back his enthusiasm, but he felt it overflowed anyway, particularly when Miles gave a bright laugh.
"Alright, well come on, I'll show you in my room, all my art stuff is there." Miles indicated that he follow, and he did so. The first thing Miles did when they got to his art desk was push a piece of paper into his chest, Peter taking a step back to look at it better.
It was a circle made of various dots, all of them a different color, and there, right underneath them were the names written in the same color in a large, almost bubbled hand. Peter clutched it, his eyes wide as he took in all of the colors and their names in a way that was easy to see and understand, the writing making it so much easier.
"Miles…" Peter said softly, feeling that odd warmth in his chest again. "This is amazing, thank you…"
"It's just a color wheel," Miles answered, waving it away. "It's hardly like I'm showing you how to save someone's life or anything."
"It did before," Peter answered, softly.
"What?"
"With the collider," Peter specified, frowning. "I couldn't be the one to stay behind because I couldn't figure out the colors, and it was in a different language."
"…Oh…" Miles responded; his voice hushed. "Well…you didn't have to stay behind anyway," he finally rallied, "I got you all out. But now you'll know what we mean when we say the green button or push the red circle and twist it until it's blue, or any other colors you might need to know. Would you like to see how to mix them?"
"Sure," Peter answered immediately, folding the color wheel carefully and promising himself that he would put it in his pocket as soon as he could. Miles grinned big and bright and pulled three paints over, putting them next to a clean sheet of paper. Then he pulled two others over, these two he knew intimately. A black and a white.
"Alright, so…" Miles dabbed the three colors onto the paper carefully, creating little dots of paint. "Every single color that you can see comes from a combination of these three colors, as well as black and white for different shades."
Peter stared at the three colors there, and then opened up the color wheel to stare at that, then looked around at all of the other colors around him. Finally, he frowned at Miles, his head tilting. "Miles…" he started, feeling a slight pull of irritation in his heart. That was…
Miles shook his head, "no, no, man, I'd never lie to you, not when it's something that you actually care about! That's not funny that's mean." Miles took a brush then, dipping it in what Peter figured was water, and then carefully mixed what the chart said was…blue and yellow…
"What the fuck?" Peter managed, his eyes widening at the completely different color that appeared between the two colors. He leapt straight up, catching himself on the ceiling so he could stand and look at the colors better from that angle. Miles laughed, scooting back slightly to keep out of his view.
"Yeah! Here, check it, see yellow and blue make green, and if I want to, I can add more yellow and change the shade…" he did so. "Or conversely add more blue…" he mixed it together, and then tapped next to the pretty shade of…green. It was green, and it was beautiful. "And change the shade again. Green's just a mixture of these two colors, which are two out of the three primary colors, and you mix the primaries together to get every other color."
"What happens if you mix…red and…um…blue?" he asked, pointing to the colors, checking from his chart to make sure he got it right.
Miles grinned as wide as possible and mixed them together. "You get purple," he said, his voice holding a laugh. Peter stuck his tongue out at him, and Miles finally broke into bright and happy laughter. "If you mix red and yellow you get orange…" he demonstrated. "And so, you have these original three, red, blue, and yellow as the primary colors, because everything comes from them, and orange, green, and purple as the secondary colors, because they come afterwards. Make sense?"
Peter nodded immediately, and he had a feeling his eyes were huge. He'd never seen anything like that. Everything always was some form of gray or white or black for him, he'd never seen anything like what Miles was doing. Miles eventually handed him a paintbrush, telling him to mix a few colors, and that's how they spent a good deal of the afternoon, mixing colors and talking about the various things that could be made out of them. Peter didn't necessarily think that he would memorize them all in an evening, but he didn't feel quite so pressured anymore. If nothing else, he had a chart he could reference.
He wouldn't be left out of that kind of world-ending choice again.
Rio came home carrying shopping bags, as well as a solid lunch that she thought would be good for the three of them. Pan-Asian takeout in honor of Peni. She thought that they might be able to teach Pete the basics of chopsticks, but she wasn't sure. Perhaps they'd leave that for Peni herself.
Peni's aunt and uncle hadn't endeared themselves to her much at all, and while on one hand she understood that their priority was obviously Peni, there was no reason to be so harsh. Particularly when the one that had placed most of their ire on had grown so used to harshness. It wasn't fair. The only thing that she could really hope was that they applied that obvious protective streak in such a way that it warmed Peni, and didn't smother her. She placed the bags on the ground as soon as she entered, cracking her back out and closing the door behind her with her heel.
"Boys," Rio called out, Miles and Pete both sticking their heads out of Miles' room at the call, neither of them noticing that they'd managed to splatter themselves with paint. Rio smiled brightly at the sight, taking in the yellows and reds that had splattered their way up Miles' face, and the blues and greens that had somehow found themselves dotted across Pete's face almost like freckles. Pete himself, was upside-down, likely standing on the ceiling. She wondered if they had gotten into a bit of a fight with the paint, or if it had just come from Pete's excitement at dealing with the colors. "Would you mind helping me put the groceries away? I brought home lunch."
Pete walked out of the room on the ceiling, following Miles. Rio picked up one bag holding plenty of black clothing and held it out to him. Pete blinked in shock, taking it from her, and looking in.
"Oh…Mrs. Morales, I can't take…" he started, his eyes wide, dropping down to stand before her.
"You can," Rio nodded. "It might not reflect the light properly in your world, but there's enough underthings and socks to make sure that you have some changes, which I thought was the most important part. Your coat should hide the shirt, I'm assuming…"
Peter looked at the bag in horror and then back to her. "But you just said…"
"Peter, it's fine," she said, finally giving into the impulse to cradle his cheek in her hand. His skin was warm, she'd almost call it flushed, though she was uncertain whether that was due to fever, or simply because of his metabolism. Peter B had also run very warm, so she thought that might simply be a spider thing. He swallowed heavily at her touch, and she could feel the slightest way he leaned into it, the way his body sought out the feeling even as he seemed like he wanted to run, a tension running through him that was palpable. "You need it. You can't take care of others if you aren't taking care of yourself, and at the moment you need a bit of extra care. That's fine. We're capable. They were also all on sale, so I didn't have to spend much at all."
"But," Pete started, still staring at her with those eyes, wide and horrified.
"Peter," Rio said softly. "You literally gave a part of your soul for my family. You gave a part of your humanity. If you think for one second that some underwear and socks are worth that… Sweetie," she rubbed a circle on his cheekbone with her thumb gently, "you've given so much already, let me catch up."
Pete stared at her, his eyebrows pinched, before finally he looked away, taking a step away from her, and pulled the bag close to his chest. "Thank you…" he said softly.
"Thank you," she responded. "Now, you can either shower and change now, or eat." Peter hesitated, looking towards the restroom, and Rio had to laugh quietly. She didn't blame him. He'd been wearing that for close to two days now. "Go on, don't worry. Miles and I will put away the groceries, and the takeout will be warm for a while yet."
Pete hesitated, before giving a shallow nod, walking to the laundry room, still holding the bag. Eventually he came out, his pants thrown over his shoulder, standing out in contrast to his pajamas. She hadn't really appreciated how void-like his hair or clothing was with either his own skin or everything else until it was placed directly next to something so bright. Rio picked up some of the bags, Miles taking the others and carrying them into the kitchen.
"So, what did you two do while I was gone? Did Pete finish the omelets? I actually forgot to ask before I left."
"He did," Miles answered, grinning. "He actually taught me how to make them. I burned a few but he ate them, anyway, didn't mind." He put the bags on the counter and began helping to put stuff away. "Then I showed him a few colors, and the color wheel."
"I can tell," Rio said smiling. Miles blinked, looking at her with wide eyes.
"How?"
"You have paint on your face," she laughed, getting a washcloth and scrubbing it off for him, even as he complained and pulled away half-heartedly. "Pete had some, too, did you notice?"
Miles grinned. "I put it there," he laughed. "We were trying to see if we could figure out his eye color if he came from our world. We didn't think that he had brown eyes, but we couldn't decide between blue like…well, like ours, or if his would be green. I got him with both colors as a joke, told him that we'd just have to see which looked best. I didn't notice that I got paint on me. What colors?"
"Red and yellow," Rio answered.
"He got me, and I didn't even notice," Miles said, very seriously, frowning. Rio laughed and kissed his forehead.
"It sounds like you boys had a good time," Rio said, smiling. "I'm glad." They finished putting the groceries away right around the same time Pete entered the room. The black of his new shirt was much warmer than his pants and even his hair, almost disconcertingly so, reflecting the soft yellow of the kitchen light. It fit around his shoulders, though, which was the thing she had been worried about. What she hadn't quite been expecting was for the realization that nothing fit him exactly.
The pants were just slightly too big, though he had obviously used a belt to make sure they stayed up, he'd rolled the cuffs of his pants up, and she had the sudden realization that they were hand-me-downs. She thought of the coat that belonged to his uncle. She wondered if he had ever owned anything truly his.
"Looking sharp, Pete," she said, grinning wide. Pete's eyes narrowed slightly, his head tilting, and Rio had the startling realization that he didn't know what she meant. "Oh, I'm sorry, Pete, I didn't think of that being slang you wouldn't be familiar with. Sharp in this context means…nice, you look nice, all clean and dressed."
Pete scrunched his nose, slightly, gray playing over his face in shadows as he looked at what he was wearing. She hadn't noticed it as much when he had color near him for whatever reason, but now that he was wearing what was meant to be black and so obviously wasn't, she could really see the difference. His skin was still white as chalk, but that gray was really what leant that not-from-this-dimension feel to him. The way his pupils caught the light as he looked back up to her, reflecting as white, was definitely another.
"…Okay?" he finally said, and Rio couldn't help but laugh.
"Does everything fit okay?" she asked, frowning at the shirt closer. The shoulders had been accommodated, but there was no doubt that it was too baggy on him at the same time. The term string-bean came to mind, and she had a feeling that even if he had been properly filled out it would still be hard to find clothes that fit properly.
"Well enough," Pete answered. "I can alter some of it if I have to…" He ran his fingers over the black top, frowning at it. "It's weird. Your black isn't…it's not black."
"It's definitely different from your black," Rio agreed. "Your hair is darker, actually." She hesitated. "Pete…who cut your hair?" she finally allowed herself to ask.
Pete touched it, before finally giving her a slight grin. "I cut it with a knife," he answered. "I know it's terrible, but it's not like anyone has to…well, it wasn't like anyone had to see it."
"Would you let me cut it for you?" Rio asked.
"…Now?" Pete asked, his eyebrows flying up. "I knew it was bad, but I didn't think…"
Rio shook her head. "No, no, not now, we'll eat lunch first, but would you let me?"
Pete hesitated, before giving her a tiny shrug.
Rio would accept it for now. Miles had put the takeout on the table, organized from rice, to vegetables, to beef, to chicken. There was no pork. Rio didn't think she'd put pork on the menu ever again. He'd also placed three pairs of chopsticks on the table, a smile on his mouth.
"Alright," she clapped her hands together. "You had some takeout the other day, but I think it's best when fresh, and this is pretty good stuff." Pete sat down across from her and Miles. "Now, you've never used chopsticks before?" she asked to clarify.
"Nope," Pete answered, shaking his head, poking at the chopsticks.
"I think Peni wanted to teach you, but I don't think she'd mind too terribly if we did instead," Rio frowned slightly, hoping that it wouldn't make Peni feel upset. Pete shrugged, picking up the chopsticks in his fingers loosely and fiddling with them.
"Okay, so, you take one of them like this," Miles said, holding it like a pencil around a third of the way from the top, Pete following the instructions. "And then you take this one and slide it underneath right here…" he pressed it between his ring-finger and his thumb. "And then you just kind of pinch the top chopstick to the bottom one with these fingers," he said, pinching the chopsticks together repeatedly.
"It's kind of hard if you're not used to it," Rio allowed. "If you have too much trouble, we'll just get you a fork, it's no issue at all."
Pete had followed the directions well enough and had a grip on the chopsticks, doing his best to keep his hold on them even as he practiced a few times. His eyebrow was raised, but he seemed game to try. Miles pushed the orange chicken Pete's way with a grin.
"Give this a go," he said. "I think you'll like it, it's kind of sweet."
Pete opened the box and poked at the chicken with the chopsticks. Miles immediately went for the Szechuan Chicken, and Rio smiled, even as she went for the vegetable box. It wouldn't be good to stare at Pete while he struggled with something new. He deserved the opportunity to practice without people ogling him. She did still watch out of the corner of her eye as he managed to pick up a piece of the chicken, looking mildly pleased, and then immediately dropped it back into the box. She had to look up at the ceiling to avoid letting out a snort at his nonplussed expression.
What Rio learned from this was that Pete was stubborn. While he did fail repeatedly, he still went back at it, and eventually he even managed to eat a few pieces. He looked like he liked it a good deal, and eventually was able to eat it consistently. Rio had to hide a smile at the way the dent between his brows smoothed over. Miles, Pete, and Rio all traded boxes, not bothering with plates, something more communal in passing it around and telling him to try something new. They kept him away from the spicier stuff, but he seemed to enjoy the flavors very much.
Though, perhaps that was just hunger. Metabolisms were tricky, and it was obvious that Pete needed to eat. She didn't have any idea what kind of caloric intake would be necessary for him to run around the city the way he did and still maintain a healthy weight. She did have an idea that it would be positively obscene.
Miles and Rio passed their boxes to Pete after they had eaten their fill, leaning back slightly as they talked, the conversation easy and light. Pete seemed to listen, but he was definitely more invested in eating. When he finally pushed away the last box, Rio smiled at him, and began gathering the empty cartons with Miles, Pete taking a moment to breathe. He finally stood up and helped, pushing the chairs in and wiping off the table. Rio wanted to shake her head, fondness and amusement spreading within her at the sight, but she refrained.
Peters.
Rio held out the heavy-duty thread and the needle she had kept for him, and Pete took them immediately. He looked to Miles then with a raised eyebrow.
"Wanna help?" he asked. Miles hesitated, looking at her.
"I mean…" he said. "I really don't know how to sew…"
"I'll teach you," Pete shrugged. "It's a good skill to learn."
Rio pushed Miles along with a grin and a wink. Pete wasn't wrong. Besides, it was the least that they could do. She gave Miles the pack of needles, and Pete tied both of their threads for them. The two of them sat and Pete began quietly instructing Miles on how to sew the pieces together. It would be so much easier if she owned a sewing machine, but she hadn't been sure what to get, and Pete likely wouldn't know how to use one, and she certainly didn't. It would be something to investigate for a later purchase. As it was, she sat down next to them, getting her own needle and beginning to thread it.
She was used to stitches.
Miles and Pete made their way up one side of the coat, sewing the pieces together carefully. They were half-way through one side of the coat when there was a tap on their window. Rio looked over and saw Peter B there, giving them a wave. Rio immediately went over and threw the window open.
"Hello! Sorry to come back so soon, but I thought I'd check on…" he paused, looked at what Miles and Pete were working on and then his gaze fell on the coat. His eyes widened in horror and he hopped through the window immediately. "Oh! Do you have another needle?" Pete held one up without question and Peter B joined them on the floor, unspooling his own black thread. "Dang, kid, what happened?" he asked. "I thought the coat might be a bit torn up, but…"
"I washed it," Miles said miserably. "It came apart in the wash."
"You didn't know it would happen and I already said it's fine," Pete said, his voice the tired sort born from repetition. A ringing startled them then, and they looked at Pete's watch. Pete immediately answered it with a questioning, "Hello?" even as he got back to sewing.
"Is it okay if I come over?" Peni's voice called out. "I have your vest, Pete, we put it back together again!"
Pete almost visibly relaxed but shot a glance to Rio before answering.
"Absolutely, Peni," Rio said, her voice warm and bright. "Peter B is here again as well."
"Excellent! I'll be right there, thank you. I'm not going to bring the mech this time, just me and Spider."
"That's fine, Peni, will you be coming…" the sudden opening of a portal against the wall startled them, and a moment later Peni hopped through. She was carrying a black vest in her arms and she was grinning as wide as possible, a large spider on her shoulder. It took Rio a moment to realize that Pete had stilled next to her. Rio looked at him, but he seemed to push whatever initial reaction he had had down and stood up.
"Thank you," he said, walking towards her. Peni grinned at him brightly.
"No problem! My aunt and uncle fixed it after they…" she hesitated, her expression falling. "I'm sorry, Pete, I didn't even think of it at first. They took some of your blood as a sample… I didn't even realize until I saw them looking at a mock-up of your genetic makeup." Peni had pulled his vest close and Pete froze for a moment before taking it from her, his motions gentle even though she could see the way his body had tensed, his mouth in a thin line.
"Won't be much use to them now," he said, and his voice was cold. "Tell them the next time they want a blood sample they can take it off my corpse, because that'll be the only time that that particular brand of eugenics bullshit is likely to work." Pete pulled the vest on in a sharp motion, smoothing it down.
"…Eugenics?" Peter B repeated, his voice vaguely confused, and slightly alarmed. Peni didn't even look like she understood, when Rio looked at the girl, though she was obviously alarmed and a bit upset. Pete seemed to recognize both the confusion and the way that Peni was looking at him. Initially he stiffened, before sighing.
"I'm sorry, Peni," he said. "I shouldn't snap at you, it's not your fault."
"That's…that's okay, but what do you mean…" Peni hesitated. "What's eugenics?"
"Disgusting," Peter B said shortly, standing up slowly. "It was disproven and eventually phased out. It was used to do terrible things to people under the name of progress and keeping lines 'pure.' Eugenics just…it's not used anymore, Pete, or at least it's not recognized in most circles. I don't agree with them taking your blood without asking, but that probably isn't what they were after."
"They called me inhuman," Pete mumbled numbly. "I didn't think my mutation was enough to give them that opinion. Not completely… I thought maybe a remnant was still going on."
Peni had put her hands over her mouth, and Rio was suddenly very aware that she had no idea what her aunt and uncle had said.
"It's not because of that," Peter B finally said softly after the silence grew long and brittle. "It's not because we're Jewish. They…they had no right to call you inhuman. But it's not because we're Jewish."
Oh.
Oh.
Pete hadn't just meant socialist when he said, 'our circle.' Rio felt her heart freeze as she realized he had meant passing Jews. Pete was a left-handed socialist Jew in the 1930s.
"You're Jewish, Peter?" Miles asked, surprise in his voice.
Peter B said "Non-practicing," right around the same time that Pete said, "Passing."
Oh, this poor boy.
"Passing," Miles repeated quietly, and then his eyes widened. "You mean you just…you just look white?" He was on his feet then, realization, and amazement obvious, looking from Peter B to Pete. "But…" Rio saw the moment he pieced it together, saw the moment his expression crumbled. "Oh. No wonder your favorite thing is punching Nazis."
Pete's mouth twisted slightly. "Yeah," he agreed quietly. "No wonder." There was a long pause, and he looked away, before quietly saying, "I don't want to talk about it. I was wrong in my initial assessment. I'm sorry." A slight grin spread over his face, bitter and twisted. "Least I know that the mutation's enough that it qualifies me as inhuman."
"That's…" Peter B hesitated, before frowning. "I bet mine would, too. And maybe we're not human. Maybe the mutation altered our chemical makeup enough to make us something inhuman. But that doesn't mean we shouldn't exist, or we don't deserve courtesy or to be treated with respect, or we're somehow lesser beings. We're here. We're sentient. And now we're not alone."
Pete didn't say anything for a moment, staring at Peter B with a slight frown on his face. Peter B returned the stare, his eyebrows pinched together. Pete finally looked away; his hands balled into fists.
"Nice sentiment," he finally said, his voice cool. Peter B closed his eyes and heaved out a sigh. There were things that she wanted to say on the tip of her tongue, reassurances, bits of empathy or even promises, but she held them back. She somehow felt that it wasn't her place.
"Let's…let's fix your coat, Pete," Peter B said. Peter B and Pete both moved back to the needles and the thread that they had abandoned, working their way through it. The quiet peace had died a sudden death, Pete's needle flying through the fabric, every stitch perfectly placed, but almost vicious. Peni sat down off to the side, her Spider in her hands, tapping gently against her forehead. Peni hadn't said a word, just hunched up close and quiet. Rio was worried. Rio hoped that it wasn't something that had been engrained into her. Rio hoped that she didn't cope with silence.
When they finally finished it took quite a few spools of thread and Rio was glad she had gotten so much. Pete stood up, flaring the coat out, before pulling it on. The vest and the coat both hid what she had started to think of as the not-real black of the shirt she had bought him, and really helped make him look cohesive.
"Thanks," he said, his voice stiff, but he nodded at them in turn, and then walked back to the laundry room. When he came out, he was wearing his boots and had tucked the pants into them. His mask was in one hand, the goggles in the other. He put the goggles on for a second and hissed, before taking them back off and popping the lenses out. The laundry basket with his things in it was fished in before he pulled out a black satchel, dumping more lenses from inside the bag into his hand, pocketing the ones from the goggles. The realization that he had made corrective versions of his lenses hit her right around the same time he fit the old lenses in place.
The realization that he had had the foresight to keep the originals because of the nature of his transformation was hot on its heels, and it was like a punch to the stomach. The sight of him picking up his knives and slotting them into areas of his coat and into pockets, followed by every other object he owned twisted her heart.
"Pete…" Rio started, standing up. "Wait, what about your…"
"Stitches?" Pete asked, looking at her with those grey eyes that had darkened considerably, she'd almost call them stormy. "I cut those out already."
"But…"
"I have to go," Pete said, his voice stiff.
"You still have to recover," Rio said, standing up. "You lost a lot of blood, and…"
"I'm fine," Pete shook his head. "I don't have any residual dizziness; my stitches are out. You've fed me, given me clothing, and let me sleep here. There is no reason for me to stay, and every reason for me to go."
"But Pete," Peter B started. "Why don't we talk about this…I…"
"We've talked enough," Pete answered. "The only thing we've done is talk. I can't stay here anymore. It's been two days, they'll have found the Lizard, they'll have found their bodies. If I'm lucky I can get back before they try and pin it on me, but I have to go."
"If it's that bad, why don't you stay?" Miles asked. "If they beat you because you're left-handed, want to kill you because you're a socialist and…and don't think you're human because you're a Jew, why don't you stay?"
"Because I could never live with myself if I never went back," Pete answered, his voice quiet. "Because I don't belong here." Peni was on her feet next to Peter B. Pete looked at her, his mouth in a thin line. "Are you going to show me how to go home? Or do you think I'm too stupid to do it by myself?"
Peni flinched, obviously hurt, her eyes wide and tearful. Peter B took that in and immediately turned back to Pete.
"Hey! That is absolutely out of line, you know that she doesn't think you're stupid…" Peter B said, snapping his hand out to the side. "Don't take it out on her just because you're feeling vulnerable. Trust me, the only thing that leads to is regret."
"And you'd know all about regret, wouldn't you, Peter?" Pete asked, and his voice was the closest it had ever gotten to waspish, his eyes narrowed and angry. "You're so full of regrets you gave up." Peter B blinked. "You're so full of regrets and self-loathing that you let yourself fall apart out of, what…some form of self-flagellation? Were you hoping that if you let yourself go enough your love would sweep you back off your feet and come back because of pity? What was her name, MJ? She deserved better."
There was a ringing silence, Peter B looking a bit as though he had been struck. Peni and Miles both looked stricken, their eyes so wide, sending glances towards Peter B and then back to Pete, who had squared his jaw and was staring directly into Peter B's eyes as though daring him to do something about it. Rio didn't know what to say. She didn't know whether to reassure or to scold, knowing deep in her soul that Pete had been stretched thin these last few days, baring so much more of himself than he had ever wanted to, surrendering control and even bodily autonomy.
"You're going to regret that," Peter B said finally. "You're going to get into your universe and you're going to stare at the ground, or the sky, or the buildings around you, and you're going to regret it. You're right, I know regrets, and I know what I regret, and unfortunately for you…I'm a few left turns and bad decisions from you. And because I know you're going to regret it; I'm not going to tell you to apologize. But I am going to tell you that you have to come back when you're hurt. You made a deal."
"We break vows all the time, Peter," Pete said, lazily.
"But if you break this one, I'll come after you," Peter B returned, even as he curled his left hand into a fist, his eyes dark. "I will find you and I will drag you back here kicking and screaming. You think you can challenge me; I've been Spider-Man for twenty-two years. I'm still alive and I'm still kicking, and buddy, I've faced things scarier than you. Don't make me come after you."
"You don't want to come into my world, Peter," Pete said, his eyes narrowed. "I'm not the thing you have to fear. It's everything else."
Peter B took a breath, nodding. "Yeah. Which is why you're going to keep me out by coming to Rio. Only way, buddy," he said with a shrug.
Pete bared his teeth, and finally looked away. "You shouldn't want to go in my world at all."
"I don't," Peter B agreed quietly. "But I will."
"You have no fucking idea," Pete said, his eyes narrowed. "You have no idea. You come through and all you're going to do is get me and yourself killed."
"Then give me an idea," Peter B said, his eyes narrowed. "I want to know."
"I'm not taking you…"
"Don't," Peter B answered. "Just…make a phone call. A simple phone call that shows exactly what you're living with. I won't have to take a step over, and if I decide it's bad enough then I'll stay away."
Pete narrowed his eyes. "You want to hear it?"
"Sure," Peter B answered, shrugging.
"Fine," Pete said simply. "Fine. I'll show you what it's like. If you decide you still want me around afterwards, then I'll come back. If you don't, well. I don't blame you."