Becoming Spider-Man // Son of Stark 1

Chapter 12

Peter said nothing as he sat down in the back of Steve's car. He said nothing as they drove the thirty minute drive, and said nothing when Bucky lifted his case from the trunk. He said nothing whilst Steve showed him the room he would be forced to call his, and remained silent for the rest of the night: not even attending dinner, when he was asked.

"Come on, Peter," Steve begged from the other side of the teen's bedroom door. "You need to eat." In truth, Peter knew that not eating wouldn't go down too well with his new abilities, yet he didn't want to sit out there with them.

Eventually Steve gave in to the silence, bringing a plate of grilled chicken, fries and a side of salad into the room. "Kiddo, you're hungry. I can hear your stomach growling from the other room."

Steve kneeled down opposite Peter - who was sat on a twin bed, "What's up, Pete? You've never been shy with me before..."

He got no response, which was expected, really, seeing as the boy had uttered no words the other eight hours he had been there.

"I'm your Pops, Peter, why the heck aren't you talking to me?" he asked, the anger in his question directed at himself and not his son.

Recognising the sorrow in his Pops' ocean-like eyes, Peter decided it was probably best to reply. "Because... because you took me away from Dad. I wouldn't of minded living part time, but this... this isn't what I want."

"Peter, it's not what you want... it's what's best for you."

That made no sense to the boy, who couldn't understand how him being sad was better for him than being happy. Surely his father could see that... surely?

"What's best for me is being with Dad," Peter stated, holding in the urge to clench his fists. His face was definitely red by now; he could feel his blood raging.

"The court decided him not to be able to be a single father. That's not my fault, really it isn't."

Peter sighed, picking at a few of the French fries from the plate on his bed. They were golden, lightly salted and seemed to have some sort of herbal marinate on them: nothing like the fries his Pops has ever made before.

"You didn't cook these, did you?" he asked, trying to change the topic. He couldn't stand being mad this long - maybe he just had to get on with life like Dad had said.

"What?" Steve asked, taken back slightly. "No, Bucky did... how can you tell?"

"Your's weren't bad or anything... these are just better," he replied, picking up another handful of fries.

"Bucky used to make for us back before the war... after my Mom passed. He knew I didn't feed myself too much and still seems to have a knack for cooking."

Peter didn't reply; he wasn't too sure what to say to that. Sure, his Pops has mentioned his Mom prior to that moment... it was just awkward to get back to it right then.

Steve stood up, placing his hand on Peter's shoulder. "Come on, kiddo. Come in the lounge with me and Bucky, ever since he found out you can play chess he's been bugging me to invite you over to play..."

"Fine," announced Peter, who seemed to have cheered up a bit. He pulled himself off of the bed and followed Steve out of the room.

"Hey, Peter," Bucky said calmly. He was watching the television; a show about penguins was on - one voiced by Sir David Attenborough.

Peter glanced at him and responded slightly shyly with, "Hi..." Steve had sat down on the couch, next to Bucky, but had made space on the right of him for Peter.

The teen hesitantly sat down. "You said you wanted to play chess?"

Bucky grinned, "I sure did. Me and my pal Alfie used to play it back in the day... Your Pops, here, can't play to save his life."

Steve raised his hands in surrender, "I can play. I just like to plan out my strategy first... And Bucky likes to play speed chess."

"So, kid, should I set up the board?"

"Be prepared to get annihilated!"