"Did you… get the kid drunk?" Peter (Peter-Two, Old Man, Sensible-Peter) sets the late night groceries down and surveys the scene. The scent of booze is strong in the tiny apartment and he suspects there's already been a certain amount of spillage. "You do know he's underage?"

Peter-Three (who seems oddly content with the nickname and has acquired no other) lands in front of him, pivoting upright from a perch on the ceiling as he drops. The can he's holding fizzes out over his hands onto the floor and how was he even drinking that upside down anyway?

"Wait… No! I saw his paperwork."

Peter-Two raises his eyes. "The paperwork that fails to reflect the fact he blipped out of existence in this world for five years?"

"Huh…"

Peter-Three's eyes go comically wide as he spins round to stare at Peter-One (Just Peter, this world's Peter, Pete) who laughs and pulls a face and throws a sofa cushion at Peter-Two who webs it out of the air without comment.

Peter-Two watches Three's reaction, wondering how on earth he could have overlooked that time discrepancy. To him, Peter-One feels a hundred years younger than either of them. Way more in any case than whatever the paperwork says.

Peter-Three steps between them and a second cushion bounces off the back of his head.

The humour has gone from his face and, after a quick glance, his eyes slide away from Peter-Two's.

"I didn't think. He was joking about it, and I was teasing him about it and I just thought maybe everyone could do with a chance to relax. I'm an idiot."

"You're not an idiot," Peter-Two says by reflex because he hates this hangdog look. Hates everything it says about years on years of decisions second-guessed and regretted, for it to have become this habitual.

And he definitely can't bear to see it over something so trivial.

"Maybe we do need to relax," he says and Peter-Three raises his head. Peter-Two smiles. "I just hope you brought enough for everybody."

He spins Peter-Three around by the shoulders and gives him a gentle shove in the direction of the cans stacked on the counter top.

Peter-Three pratfalls in that direction at the contact, only to turn it into a graceful roll and come up on his feet, still with his own drink in his hand.

"He pushed me!" he declares loudly, as Peter-One laughs and applauds. "Did you see that? Brute! Are we sure he's not a secretly-villainous us? Gotta be one out there somewhere right?"

He throws a can to Peter-Two anyway, who eyes it, wondering how shaken up it's already been. Peter-One raises his hand waving for another. Peter-Three shoots Two a glance.

He shrugs and Three lobs one over.

Peter-One is clearly entirely unprepared for how fast a spider-ish metabolism processes the alcohol into its effects but there's no real trouble. The booze runs out while everyone is still very much at the happy-drunk stage and Peter-Two eyes Three thoughtfully, because he strongly suspects he would be in a position to estimate accurately.

He feels too relaxed to pursue the thought, so sips his drink and lets it go because Peter-One is a giggler when under the influence, and it's infectious.

Peter-Three is physically demonstrative and ridiculous. He's upside down again, walking on his hands across the counter top, legs folded back and swinging loose at the knees to avoid kicking the lights off the ceiling.

He goes to one hand – balancing - and Peter-One, cross-legged on a cushion, beats out a dramatic drum-roll on the floorboards as he wobbles.

Wobbles, and pitches over and both other Peters are up off the floor and couch to intervene before he twists in the air and lands firmly on his feet.

He gives them a giddy flourish and dives past Peter-Two to steal his relinquished corner spot on the couch.

"Three second rule."

Peter-Two moves a few feet to the right and seats himself beside him.

"You know this is a three seater couch, right?"

"But this is the best spot. If you can't get this spot you might as well not bother. Why d'you think Peter's on the floor there?"

Peter-One rolls his head back to look up and across at them from where he'd already sat back down.

"Peter's not on the floor," he says. "I have a cushion. Peter's on the couch. Peterses is on the couch." Something strikes him funny and his face lights up with glee and his giggle becomes a full on belly laugh.

"The couch is a..." He pauses solemnly, apparently for dramatic effect. "Three Peter Seater."

He leaps up and onto the spare space in one fluid motion that belies the drink.

"Right?" he demands.

"Right," Peter-Two allows, laughing.

"Nope!"

Two heads turn to a third.

"This Three Peter Seater has only one true purpose."

"Does it now?" Peter-Two asks, content to play straight man.

"It does! The true purpose of this Three Peter Seater – is to seat-a-Peter-Three. It's all mine!"

He flings out his arms mimes a mic drop and flops back, completely limp, draped across his space, eye shut with a triumphant grin on his face.

It's no more than a second before he opens one eye to see what sort of a reaction he might be getting.

He seems equally pleased with the laughter and the rolled eyes.

"Well lucky you - it can be yours for the night while I claim the real bed then," Peter-Two says, standing and stretching. "And since this was your idea, you can just roll young Pete there onto the camp-bed when he finally crashes."

Peter-Three open both eyes and yawns. "I actually think we're about there."

He's right - Peter-One is drooping. Smiling still but very definitely flagging.

He's asleep on the couch before they even finished retrieving the wobbly camp-bed and Peter-Three takes it instead without more than a token protest about comparing bad backs and tossing for it.

A small-hours silence falls easily over the apartment.

Peter-Three is already up and scavenging around the kitchenette for breakfast by the time Peter-Two strolls in from the bedroom the following morning. The fridge and most of the cupboards hang open around him. Peter-One is at halfway off the couch, but is still snoring regardless.

Peter-Three looks slightly abashed as he glances over at him.

"Sleeping it off," he says. "How you doing?"

Peter-Two shrugs, "I didn't really have that much. A bit of breakfast's all I need. You?"

Peter-Three grins at him. "Oh y'know, self-healing spider-stuff - good for black eyes, stabbings and hangovers."

"Mmm," Peter-Two agrees, but all the same, apart from the fact that he's obviously slept in all his clothes, there's something a little too bright-eyed and bushy-tailed about Peter-Three this morning, and when he heads out of the room to change and Peter-Two starts clearing up a little, it doesn't take him long to find an explanation.

He's still got the can in his hand when Peter-Two comes back.

"Oh," Peter-Three says when he spots it. "I was going to take those out before you woke up. You know you're a lighter sleeper than me or him?"

Distraction of course, and Peter-Three's eyes slide away from his once again.

Peter-Two puts the can on the counter top. The branding change is subtle but nevertheless this can and at least half the others – the half in Peter-Two's pile chiefly, are clearly labelled: 0%.

Peter-Three toes the door of the ransacked fridge closed and drops his head back to look at the ceiling instead of Peter-Two.

"Okay," he says, after a moment of contemplating the tiles. "I make a crappy, maudlin, angry drunk, alright? No one needs to see that. It's not a particularly attractive spectacle and it's not any kind of relaxing. So I just didn't."

Peter-Three glances sidelong at him, trying to judge his reaction. Wary of it. It's a painful counterpoint to last night's smiling, sly glances to check if his acrobatics or antics over the couch were hitting the mark

Peter-Two smiles and shrugs it off on both their behalf. "Well I'll remember that terribly responsible and mature bit of behaviour the next time you and Pete are accusing me of doing all the adulting for this outfit."

Peter-Three unwinds all at once and Two pats his shoulder as he squeezes past to get to the fridge.

"You did look relaxed."

Three leans into the contact ever so slightly.

"I was. You don't know how long it's been since… Since there was anything like that."

Peter-Two suspects he can guess but doesn't.

"So were you up to your elbows in the fridge and cupboards because you're making us all breakfast?" he says instead.

Peter-Three grimaces. "If you like, but you might regret it. I'm kind of a 'dinner will be served at the sound of the smoke alarm' sort of cook.

Peter-One rolls the rest of the way off the couch with a thump and Peter-Two relinquishes the kitchen to check in on him

"We'll take our chances."