"There are only patterns, patterns on top of patterns, patterns that affect other patterns. Patterns hidden by patterns. Patterns within patterns.If you watch close, history does nothing but repeat itself.What we call chaos is just patterns we haven't recognized. What we call random is just patterns we can't decipher. What we can't understand we call nonsense. What we can't read we call gibberish.
There is no free will.
There are no variables."
― Chuck Palahniuk, Survivor
Chapter 3: As Chaos Tries to Take Over
"Uraag." Peter froze at the moan coming from his bed and looked over to see the now conscious spangled hero raising a hand to his forehead. "Tony, that wasn't the button to turn on the radio. Or stereo, or whatever it is you call it."
The nerves in his brain seemed to short-circuit and die a painless death as all Peter could do was gape at Captain America. When the hero was just an unconscious body, it was easy for him to forget who the man was and treat him like any other person in need of rescuing. However, now that he was moving and speaking and aware it was an entirely different story; the young boy that had built a macaroni bust of Albert Einstein was coming to the surface, eager to meet one of his heroes face to face. "Uhhh…"
The reaction was instantaneous. As soon as the uncertain sound left Peter's mouth, the Captain's eyes bolted open and the hero flipped off the bed into a defensive crouch, reaching for his absent shield.
"Who are you and where am I?" the man asked, eyeing the teenage boy first in suspicion, and then in confusion as he took in his surroundings.
"Uh, er- well, this is my bedroom. And I'm… Peter. Hi." Cue internal face smack. Oh God, that had to be the worse introduction he could have given. Hi?! He must think I am an idiot! Ugh, I am an idiot. Quick, say something semi-intelligible! "You fell into my front lawn and I brought you up here for privacy. Are you okay?"… It could have been worse.
After a few more moments of analyzing the situation, Captain America rose to his feet and stepped over to the stunned teenager, extending his hand. "Well, in that case you have my gratitude. It was a very brave of you to step up and act as you did. I would have been far less comfortable awaking in a pothole rather than a bed, I'd wager." The blond man gave an easy smile, one that had probably been displayed numerous times in front of paparazzi, but still managed to convey sincere feelings of thanks.
"Yeah, you're welcome Sir…?" Peter swallowed nervously and scratched the back of his head, his right hand still gripped in the other hero's grasp. Everything had taken on a surreal tint for him as soon as the Avenger had woken up, but the thudding of his aunt climbing the stairs brought him back down to reality. "Ah, that's right; Aunt May should be coming up with the medical kit soon. How do you feel? Does anything hurt?"
The Captain frowned for a moment before wincing and clutching a hand to his abdomen. "How did I not notice?" he murmured quietly to himself before glancing back up at Peter. "It seems as though my body is still a bit sore from the… fall. I should heal up completely with some time and rest, though. There is no need to go out of your way for me, really."
"Do you think you could add food to that list? I can already smell the buffet my aunt has started to cook up," Peter said with a smile. His reply was timed so that Aunt May's subsequent arrival accented his point.
"Is everyone decent? Yes? Okay then, I am coming in." Aunt May pushed the unlocked door ajar with her hip and came in carrying the white and red crossed box and a tray holding two bowls of soup. "I heard voices so I thought I'd pop up with some starters. Good evening, Mister. Peter, have you checked if he is hurt yet?" She set the tray down beside the bed and stood eyeing the two men before her.
"Yes, ma'am," Peter muttered, slouching under his aunt's assessing stare.
Captain America approached the elderly lady and inclined his head in acknowledgement. "Your son has been nothing less than a perfect host, I assure you. My name is Captain Steve Rogers, though I would prefer if you just call me Steve. It is a pleasure to meet you; your family has been so accommodating to let me inconvenience you like this."
Aunt May blushed slightly in delight at the man's manners before responding. "Oh, well, you have been no trouble at all, Mr. R- Steve. We only just brought you in a few hours ago, after all. Please, lay back down and Peter will take care of you after you boys have eaten some. I am cooking up a big meal in the kitchen and I insist you stay for dinner to keep up your strength. It's just me and Peter- he is my nephew; I wasn't blessed with any children of my own, though he makes up for it in spades- so all of the food will go to waste if you leave now."
With her part said, Peter's aunt left the room empty handed and returned downstairs. Steve stared after her for a moment before looking back at Peter. "She seemed surprised I was already awake."
"Uh, yeah, Aunt May doesn't really keep up with local news or celebrities too much. She stopped reading the paper after Jameson began printing that trash about Spider-Man and all she knows about the alien attack is that a group of heroes saved the day. Superpowers and alternate dimensions aren't really her thing."
"Ah," Steve said, looking back at the vacant doorway. After a few seconds of thought over how to broach the topic, Peter decided to just go for it.
"You aren't interested in my aunt, like, romantically, are you?"
Steve's head snapped back towards the teenager. "What! No! I mean, she is a lovely lady, but I'm not- well I really don't…"
"That's fine, I was just wondering. You two are probably close in age, but I still don't think it would be very appropriate, so…"
A few moments of silence passed as the men awkwardly faced each other, before they both broke out into tear-filled laughter.
"Y-yes, I guess we are, aren't we?" Steve gasped, taking a seat on the side of the bed. "I'm still not used to that, I suppose."
Peter mirrored him and sat back down in his desk chair, letting out a few final giggles before quieting and relaxing into the subdue atmosphere that followed. The last few weeks- no, the last four months had been stressful for Peter; he had to deal with the loss of his girlfriend and temporarily giving up his mask to focus on pulling himself back together. Every time he passed by a squad of police cars with their sirens blazing, he felt a clenching in his gut as he forced himself to keep on walking and not run to the nearest alleyway to change into his Spider-Man suit, which was currently locked away within his dresser. A good laugh was just what he needed to release the tension that had been building all this time.
The two polished off the soup in comfortable silence as the sounds of Aunt May bustling about in the kitchen drifted in through the open door. Computer issues forgotten and the task of eating completed, Peter felt it was as good a time as any to give into the urge and ask the questions that had been plaguing him since first hearing about Captain America, or at least a few to calm the internal inquisitive scientist fighting to be let out.
"So… a genetically enhanced soldier. That must be a great topic to bring up at parties, huh?" Peter tried, and most certainly failed, to introduce his interest casually. Midtown High School's photography club's social dynamics did nothing to prepare him for the reality of trying to start a conversation with a virtual stranger and Peter was at a loss of what to do as he felt the uncomfortable air from before resurfacing. Luckily, Steve seemed either unaffected or simply unaware of the younger's slight unease and smiled in response.
"I must admit, I haven't been to many parties since I was defrosted, or really any such events in which I attended voluntarily, but I suppose it wouldn't be a bad opener. I take it you desire to breach this topic yourself?"
This broke the not-so-metaphorical dam that had been working as Peter's mouth-to-deep-dark-corner-of-brain-for-the-exiled-thoughts barrier. Questions about Steve's life before becoming a national hero, any memories about the procedure that had turned him into the Captain, and the events that led up to him uncovering Hydra's plot all poured out in a river of curiosity and awe before Peter could stop them. Rather than closing off or becoming annoyed, Steve was actually pleased with the direction of the questioning.
"Most people want to know about what my connection to the Avengers is and what I plan on doing now that I have started to accommodate myself with the present," Steve explained.
Peter blinked in surprise. "Well, yeah, I guess that would be interesting to know too. But, the future isn't very useful without understanding the past which shaped the person in the present to make those choices. An educated man learns history and ensures he won't repeat past mistakes, while a wise man learns history, analyzes it, and does his best to figure out how to make the future better with that knowledge. That's what my uncle use to say, at least."
"Your uncle must have been very wise himself," Steve replied, leaning forward closer to Peter.
"Yeah, I like to think he was." The next two hours were spent with Steve answering most of Peter's questions, though he dodged the more personal ones, as well the Avenger asking a few of his own.
"Who is this; your girlfriend?" the man asked, picking up the photo Peter had taken of Gwen before they had properly met. It had sat framed on Peter's nightstand since they became a couple and he couldn't bring himself to take it down even after her death. Seeing another touch the object which he had spent so many sleepless nights gazing at sent a piercing pain through his gut.
"Uh- well, that's- she is-was… er-"
With impeccable timing, Aunt May's voice rose from the kitchen. "Boys, dinner is ready. Wash your hands and get down here please."
Grateful for the interruption, Peter sprung up from the seat he had taken perched on the edge of his desk and walked to his bathroom, gesturing for Steve to follow. "Best not to test my aunt; she can just tell when someone tries to eat without washing their hands first and isn't above cleaning them herself- manually. It's actually rather terrifying."
"Ah." The two finished and went downstairs to take a seat at the table. "Oh, wow…"
"A little stressed there, Auntie?" Peter teased. The table was filled from edge to edge with bowls of mashed potatoes, corn and peas, four pitchers holding different beverages, and a hulking mass of meatloaf in the center. "Are we eating with our plates in our laps, then?"
"Oh, hush you. I cook when I'm nervous. Now sit down and eat your dinner," Aunt May huffed, wiping her hands on a crocheted dish cloth.
"This is a lovely spread, ma'am. I appreciate the effort you went to in order to make all of this food; it looks delicious," Steve said, staring at the overflowing table as he tried to remember the last time he had eaten a home-cooked meal.
Aunt May blinked for a moment before smiling at the hero. "Well, you're very welcome, dear. It is only proper to provide for an injured guest after all. Though, it is nice to know that some people are still aware of what manners are," she grounded out, glaring at Peter, whom had taken the initiative to sit down and begin filling his precariously placed plate with the piles of food. Becoming aware of the held-out silence, Peter slowly looked up to see the two other occupants staring at him.
"Hum? Did you say something Aunt M?"
"… Just eat."
Settling around the table, the three took up weapons of cutlery and went to work on the mountains of meat, starch and vegetables. Peter and Steve continued their conversation in safer territory, focusing instead on Peter's plans for after high school.
"I only have another few months at Midtown and I was considering applying for a scholarship to-" Knock, knock, knock.
"Hey Cap, you in here? Helloooo? There isn't a door and it is awkward knocking on the floor, so I'll just come in then," an achingly familiar voice yelled from the empty doorway.
I should probably fix the front door soon, Peter thought in a daze as none other than Tony Stark, decked out in a full Iron Man suit, walked into the small kitchen.
Steve sighed as he rose from the table, setting the napkin in his lap onto his newly filled for the third time plate. "I'm so sorry about my friend's rudeness, Mrs. Parker. Tony, could you please wait a mome-"
"No time, nope, nada. We've got to get going now, right now. It only took my so long to find you because for some reason my surveillance cameras are all disconnected in this neighborhood." Whoops. At the time it had been necessary to keep anyone from figuring out Spider-Man's secret identity. I guess I forgot to hook them back up when I took a break… "But the giant, Cap-indented hole outside was a fairly good indicator regardless."
"Wait Tony, can we just slow down?"
"No time! I'll apologize for completely accidentally ejecting you later; for now we need to catch up with the rest of the crew." Tony turned to Peter and held out a business card, barely glancing at the teenager. "This is the Parker residence, right? Give this to the man of the house and tell him to come to the Avengers' Tower tomorrow so we can thank him in person for his help and what not; maybe we'll throw a party. There will be pizza if you want to come as well. Let's go!"
"Hold on, Tony!" Peter and Aunt May watched as Steve was dragged out of the house by an armored multibillionaire. The slam of a car door and the squealing of tires signaled the heroes' departed.
"Uh, that was interesting, I think," Peter murmured as he also rose from the table, lifting his plate. "Could I finish this up in my room?"
Aunt May nodded absently, her attention still on the vacant seat Captain America had previously occupied. She didn't even react when Peter grabbed a liter of milk from the fridge and stuck the rest of the meatloaf on his plate before going upstairs. "Why can't Peter's friends be so polite? The dear didn't even have time for me to pack him a doggy bag…"
Entering his bedroom, Peter set his load on his computer desk before collapsing onto his bed. He had just met two men he'd idolized since he was a kid in one afternoon. One was the most relatable, amazing guest in existence, and he was pretty sure the other had invited his dead uncle to a meet and greet with the Avengers. Some quiet processing time was definitely called for. Wait a minute.
Peter shot upright and looked back over at his desk. His computer monitor, which he had turned off before going downstairs, was glowing with the blue screen of technological death. Standing up, Peter approached his desk and slowly sat down.
"What is this?" The screen flickered and three words appeared, causing Peter to grip the arms of his chair and let out a curse. "Not good."
The word Disclaimer sat in bold at the top of the screen and two boxes were placed below it; one read Accept, the other Decline. Peter tried to move the cursor with the mouse, but nothing happened. Reaching down, Peter held the power button for ten seconds. The computer remained on, even when he pulled its power cord from the wall socket.
He looked over at the flash drive still plugged into his desktop. "This is all your fault, isn't it?" Glancing back at the screen, Peter used the keyboard arrows to click the cursor onto Accept. "Fine, let's see what you have for me, shall we?" He pressed enter.