"It appears that Peter happens to share forty-nine percent of your DNA." F.R.I.D.A.Y stated.
Coffee exploded from Mr. Stark's mouth. Peter's jaw dropped as his mentor slammed his mug on the console and started to choke.
Wait. What?! His mind reeled, surprise thrummed through his body even as it froze with his gaze locked on Mr. Stark. What did F.R.I.D.A.Y just say? Forty-nine percent DNA share? That was impossible. They would mean they were related somehow. Was this like one of those movie things were the character discover they are related to each other? Just like in Indiana Jones and the Kingdom of the Crystal Skull when Indy discovered that annoying kid was actually his son? Or in Star Wars when Luke discovers that Darth Vader is actually his dad?
No, that's not possible. That was the movies, the cinema. Drama for the viewers. The stuff that happened there didn't happen in real life.
But then, why did F.R.I.D.A.Y say that?
Was it like a clone thing then? No, that was still too fantastical to be true. It would be an honor to be a clone of Mr. Stark, but there is no way that was possible. Cloning hasn't advanced past the animal testing stage yet and even then the DNA would be a hundred percent match, not forty-nine. Plus, Peter didn't look like Mr. Stark. Clones always looked exactly the same as the original, which was why they were called clones.
… and there was no way someone like him could amount to someone like Mr. Stark.
"The DNA is too different to be a clone." F.R.I.D.A.Y spoke, like she read his mind. Her voice was muffled for some reason, like she was trying to speak underwater. "It appears to be the kind of transfer that happens between a parent and offspring."
Peter's brain exploded.
His following memories are fuzzy. There's something about being pushed out of the lab and climbing some stairs somewhere. Maybe he stared at Mr. Stark through the glass door. Maybe? He's not sure. He's pretty sure Happy tried to talk to him during the car ride, but it didn't filter into his brain so he just stared at the floor. His scuffed up converse shoes looked slightly out of place in the fancy car, he can remember thinking that. Then he's magically at his apartment door seven levels up, fumbling for the key.
May isn't home. She's at work, trying to cram in more hours before its not possible anymore.
The next memory that's clear is when he climbed into his bed and curled into a tiny ball. He smashed his face into his pillow to block out the light from the window. Everything is numb. His emotions, face, body, mind. Even his eyes. So he closed them. He doesn't want to think or move or feel anymore. So he fell asleep instead.
Coming back to consciousness sucked. It really did. Everything from the day rushed back without any of the fuzzy, and Peter really just wanted to flop over and die to avoid it all. But his stupid stomach wouldn't stop growling and making him feel queasy. Cursed metabolism. When was the last time he ate? It had to be during lunch and that was- What time was it?
His stomach rumbled at him again. Peter groaned but pushed himself up, limbs tingling. Well, if his arms and legs were stiff that meant he'd been there for a long time. Guess that was good to know. He fumbled for his alarm clock, which cheerily displayed that it was six thirty in the evening. That left him with two hours before May got back and seven hours since he last ate. No wonder his stomach was killing him. Normally he could only go about two before he needed a snack.
Peter sighed and forced himself to stand. He shuffled out of his room and into the kitchen. The apartment was quiet, though he could hear the Daytons from apartment five-eighteen arguing again. Bare feet scuffled on the carpet, and Peter wrinkled his nose at the feel. Why did he take his socks off in his previous haze? He hated feel of their cheap carpet. Before the bite it didn't bother him, but with his super enhanced senses it drove him insane. It was the reason he never went around the apartment barefoot anymore, even if the carpet just covered the living area and his room.
He tugged open the fridge and stared. Walnut date loaf, very old left-over Chinese, and a random block of cheese stared back. Yeah no. Not feeling like dying by food today. Any way else, then yes, especially after this afternoon, but food poisoning sounded like a pathetic way to go.
He shut the fridge door and aimed for the pantry. Halfway to it, a hint of something delicious hit his nose, and Peter detoured to the kitchen counter instead.
Resting on the counter on a plate was an entire loaf of zucchini bread. Peter salivated at the sight of it. Out of all his aunt's crazy food concoctions, this one was definitely the best. This one was more than edible, it was addictive. Peter could never get enough of her zucchini bread. It really said something about her cooking that the best one wasn't even her invention.
He took another sniff and, oh yeah, there were walnuts in it. Even better. He picked up the entire loaf and started to gnaw on it because it was one of those days, and he was sure May wouldn't mind if he ate the entire thing. She didn't eat a whole lot these days.
No longer occupied by the search for food, the primitive side of his brain retreated and let the other thoughts he'd purposely been trying to hold back rushed into the forefront of his mind. Peter frowned, his slightly-elevated and now back to highly depressed mood squashed even more. He took another bite out of the bread.
Forty-nine percent DNA similarity with the signs pointing to it being a parent-offspring relationship. It probably wasn't an equal fifty because of the spider DNA, but that was still a daunting number. In any other circumstance, those words would mean nothing. Some equation to solve in school. Someone else's problem to deal with. A sob story or an extra bit of drama for one of those cheap low-budget dramas.
Pretty much worthless, except, in this case, those words were aimed at him.
Which is shocking enough. Peter had never thought that Richard Parker wasn't his dad. It never occurred to him. There was no reason to. Richard Parker had just always been Dad. It was a fact of life, like how the sky was blue or that fish could swim. He'd been told that his fath- Richard had been his dad, so that's what he believed. He really had no reason to doubt it either.
May and Ben said nothing about his parents arguing and going off on their own for a short time. No summer flings or secret partners or anything. Granted, that wasn't something you'd typically tell a four year old kid about his newly dead parents, or even in the years afterwards, but it should have been mentioned in some shape or form.
The only thing close he can think of was when May mentioned that his parents got pregnant really fast after their marriage. Which, now that he thinks about it, could be suspicious. Maybe his mom had one last fling or something before the wedding and he was the result. He didn't know. Peter barely knew anything about his parents.
Which also brought up the question if his parents even knew. Or, if his mom and step-dad knew. Peter wasn't an expert on 'how-to-tell-if-a-baby-is-yours' subject on any length, but there had to be at least a fifty-fifty chance that both or one of his parents knew. The other option was that neither of them knew.
His mom probably had a greater sense of the truth in this scenario, unless she had switched between the two men too fast to be able to tell. Which, frankly was an odd slash almost queasy image for some reason. Didn't she check or something? Could you check? If they didn't, it either meant that there wasn't any doubt of his parentage in their minds, or Richard Parker didn't care that they didn't share DNA.
The really shocking part of this whole thing— not to downplay the surprise of finding out your dad actually isn't your dad or anything, because that was actually pretty earth shattering in and of itself —was that the forty-nine percent he shared with Tony Stark. The Tony Stark of all people. The coolest, most brilliant guy around. Weapons developer turned superhero who helped form a global superhero fighting force that saved the world several times. He created the Iron-Man armor, revolutionized clean energy, pumped out designs for machinery that sped up the progression of science, made thousands of household products.
Like, there was always the chance that the DNA test was messed up. That his spider DNA funked up the system. But Mr. Stark's technology was too good to stumble over something like that. Especially if it was accounted for when Mr. Stark was setting up the program, which was pretty likely.
Peter Parker was nowhere close to even being in the same league as that man. Peter dealt with local crime around Queens, one city out of all of New York while Mr. Stark took care of the entire world.
Mr. Stark made millions of dollars in one day. Peter Parker could barely afford a sandwich.
Tony Stark was suave and charming. Peter Parker could barely stutter his way through a conversation with a girl.
Tony Stark was famous and loved by millions. Peter Parker had two people he dared to call friends.
Tony Stark created technology that changed the world. Peter Parker dove for parts from dumpsters for silly little gizmos that hardly worked half the time.
Tony Stark was a very big somebody to the world. Peter Parker was very much a nobody.
They both knew it. Which was probably why Mr. Stark kicked him out. Couldn't afford to have some nobody be seen with him, much less be related.
Peter slumped on against the counter. Shoot. There went any chances of a good day. Not even walnut zucchini bread could bring him up now. Now he was depressed and anxious, self esteem hit rock bottom and drilling its way deeper somehow.
Ugh. His life really sucked sometimes. First there was all the stuff with May and now this. Peter took a deep breath, his arm not occupied by food wrapped around himself almost unconsciously.
Mr. Stark- wait, should he call him Mr. Stark? If they were father-son, then the correct term would be dad, but that was way too close. Besides, Mr. Stark wouldn't like Peter to call him that. He obviously didn't want to be reminded of their relation. He made that clear after he kicked Peter out of the lab with a "I need to figure this out".
Was being kicked out of the lab just the start? Was Mr. Stark going to pull out of everything else too? All the lab visits? All the phone calls and text messages? Was he going to delete his and Happy's numbers from Peter's phone? Tell him to never call again or mention that they even knew each other? Was he going to get rid of that savings account Mr. Stark had mentioned? The college tuition he'd not so subtly pointed out was covered? Was he going to take away the suit? As
Oh crap. Mr. Stark wasn't going to take the suit again, wasn't he?
Peter would survive without it. But it felt too final. He could handle the other stuff being taken, he and May could get along like they had been before for as long as possible and it wouldn't be too hard, but taking the suit would make it too real. Decisive. Permanent. Like the big slap from cold hard reality that Peter really didn't need. Seriously. He really, really didn't need that on top of literally everything else.
He took another giant bite of bread and focused on the crunch of the walnuts instead of his spiraling thoughts.
By the time May got back home, Peter had finished off the entire loaf of bread, done the dishes, taken out the trash, vacuumed the cheap carpet; and had started boiling two pots of water, one for macaroni and cheese, and the other for hot dogs to cut up and stick in the mac and cheese. Not the healthiest meal, but one of the few Peter could make safely.
He had also, almost successfully, not completely drowned under this new additional sorrow in his crazy life. Peter was really banking on May being too tired to notice that he was a little pale and quiet. If she noticed, she'd lock on to his distress and go at it with the tenacity of a pitbull until she found out what was bugging him, and Peter really didn't want to talk about it right now.
For once, Peter's infamous luck was on his side.
The doorknob to the front door jiggled as May let out a soft exclamation from the other side. It wiggled again, and twisted open. May walked in, purse in one hand, and the other going up to her face to cover a yawn. She paused when she caught sight of Peter standing in the kitchen.
She dropped her hand and smiled at him. "You're home early. I thought you were doing your rounds today."
Rounds, their code word for Peter's patrolling.
Peter stumbled for a lie and went for something that was a half-truth instead. "I was, but then I remembered you were taking a sixteen hour shift today and I felt like you deserved something nice, so I decided to cut it short and make you some dinner."
She walked to his side and stared at the pots on the stove. She took one of the wooden spoons and stirred the noodles. "Mac and cheese with hot dogs? Classic meal. Thank you, Peter. I was feeling too tired to cook and going to order some take out, but this is a way better option."
Up close, it was easy to see exactly how tired May was, even for average eyesight. Pale skin, dark purple bags under her eyes, tired expression, the usual signs. Peter's enhanced eyes caught a little bit more. It caught the chalky tone to her skin, the veins that were slightly starting to stick out a little more each day, greasy hair that was starting to crack and split unhealthily, the faint tremble of her hands as she stirred the pot.
Sixteen hour shifts were tough on any nurse, but on May, they were especially brutal. If they wouldn't need the money so desperately in the future, then Peter would be begging her to take a couple days off. Maybe he would even ask Mr. Stark if they could borrow some money. But that money was essential, and Mr. Stark wanted nothing to do with Peter, so he didn't say a word as May bent over and pretended to lean on the stove to check on the noodles, when they both knew that she was exhausted beyond belief and needed just that tiny bit of relief she was willing to show.
May gave the noodles another stir, then glanced around the kitchen. Her eyes landed on the empty counter and she smiled. "I see you ate the entire loaf of zucchini bread, Mr. Greedy. How was it?"
"Delicious, of course." Peter fake-scoffed. "You know your zucchini bread is always delicious, especially with walnuts."
"Good. I made it especially for you." She tapped the tip of his nose. "I'm glad to see my hard work was appreciated."
Peter chuckled, a weird feeling in his stomach. "I always appreciate everything you do May."
"I don't know about that. You didn't like that cake I made for your twelfth birthday."
"Because it had Dora on it. No twelve year old boy likes Dora the Explorer, May." Peter grinned even as he complained.
May threw up her hands and grinned just as brightly. "It was the last cake in the store! Would you rather that I came back with no cake at all?"
"Yes!"
The old argument brought a happy feeling that they both desperately needed. It was a warm feeling that wrapped them up with memories and love, that let the harsh edges of reality blur until they were in their own little world, satisfied with each other and nothing else.
It lasted through dinner and Peter doing the dishes once again while May sat on the couch and picked a show for them to watch as the light from the windows disappeared. It lasted through the first three episodes of F.R.I.E.N.D.S, and more than halfway into the fourth. It lasted until May fell asleep, head cradled on the couch arm rest, and Peter was left awake, alone with his thoughts and the sound of talking and laugh tracks.
Peter let his head thunk on the arm rest and, now that he was alone in the dark, finally let himself be swallowed by the pit of despair.