Chapter Text
There wasn't a part of Peter that didn't have a love for everything he touched, which was why he loved everything science.
But it was rare that people knew of Peter's other extracurricular--- The violin.
Ben was a patron of the arts. He loved everything, from opera to classical music, to musical theatre, to contemporary dance. All of it, no matter what form it took, was Ben's forte.
When Peter's parents died, Ben made sure Peter was raised close to the arts, and that's how he picked up the violin.
Ben had taken him to the local instrument store, letting Peter rub his grubby hands across the display instruments. This was until he came across a rich brown violin, and stopped on it. That was the instrument he took home.
He spent his early adolescence making cat screeches, rosin clouds, and broken strings, but during his first year at Midtown he was on the orchestra.
Sure, he wasn't first chair--- It took a shit-ton of time to be that dedicated to something, and in-between Decathlon and his love for robotics, Peter didn't have the time to practice every day. But this didn't mean he was bad; He loved it!
Then, he got bit. Spending days in agonizing pain, unaware which way was up, or if he was even alive, took him out of it for a while. And then Ben died.
By the time the grief had stopped rattling his bones with every breath, Peter picked up his violin. It was something he found solace in, once--- A form of creation that was temporary, but so much more meaningful than robotics or biochemistry.
Delicately, he placed the shoulder rest on his shoulder and placed his chin in position. But as he lifted his fingers to the fingerboard, a sickening crunch resonated through the chamber of the instrument.
He let the violin fall back onto his bed, the scroll swinging erratically because only the strings were holding it to the rest of the instrument.
Everything about Ben was gone.
Ben's voice, the way he cradled Peter's head, his art. Everything.
Peter quit orchestra.
He sewed a suit together and started swinging around New York at nighttime, trying to prevent another Ben from being taken from the world.
Then, he met Tony.
Tony didn't love the arts. Sure, he could appreciate it, but if he had the choice between going to the opera or identifying an issue in the coils of his propulsion systems, the latter was an easy choice.
The pair spent a lot of time bickering about everything science related. From the chemical composition of Peter's webs to the electromagnetic force of arc reactors, nothing was out of the realm of possibilities for the two.
Or so Peter thought.
When Tony had picked him up from Midtown, after a decent day of school, Peter began babbling about his day at school.
From his obsession with Dr. Banner to his extracurriculars, Peter was sure there was nothing Tony didn't know about him; Especially not with his super-freaky-cool AIs.
That was until Tony dropped the news on him.
"Kid, take a breath. This weekend isn't going to be all schematics and messing around. Pepper needs me to attend this… I don't know, instrument thingy tonight, and you're coming with me." He said in-between Peter's incessant jabbering.
"Whoa, really?" Looking towards his mentor with wide eyes, Peter realized that there was one thing that may have slipped Tony's knowledge; Peter's relationship with classical music.
When Tony brought up the symphony (or whatever he cleverly described it as), Peter felt the nonchalant tone in his voice. The Ben inside him flinched at it, even.
But who was Peter to turn down watching the New York Philharmonic? That was a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity!
The memory of fleeting fingers dancing on steel strings made Peter's hands twitch against his legs where they rest, and while Tony drove up to the compound, his longing for his old violin--- Ben's violin--- weighed heavily on him.
The rest of the drive up to the compound was uneventful; Peter finally finished the rant about his day, Tony teased him, and the need to play the violin ate Peter the entire way.
When they arrived, the pair separated into their rooms. They had a handful of hours to spare before the symphony, but Pepper wanted to take the boys out for dinner beforehand.
Struggling his hair into a slicked-back style, Peter smiled nervously at himself. Clad in slacks and a dress shirt, he looked at the ties that sat on the counter in front of him.
"Tony!" The shout echoed off the bathroom wall.
From further away, a strained but loud "WHAT?" could be heard from the en-suite kitchen.
Peter wandered out of his room and into the kitchen. "I don't know what tie to wear. What do you think?"
"Hm. I don't know, bowtie? Don't you have a suit jacket or anything?"
"Uh- No, not really. Why, do I need one?"
"Nah, just thought Pep would like it more if we were matching."
"Why would I ever want to match with you, lol?" Peter snarked, laughing at the way his mentor confusedly smiled when he said 'lol' out loud.
"Wh- I-"
"Thanks, Mr. Stark!" Peter laughed, using his socked feet to quickly slide away on the kitchen tile. When he made it back to the bathroom, he precariously clipped the pre-tied bowtie on his collar. Then, he focused on putting his shoes on.
When he and Stark were finally ready, the pair walked to Happy's chauffeuring vehicle, facing the brisk New York wind on the way. Rolling down the window, Pepper smiled from the front seat.
"Wow, looking good, boys!" She called as they approached, Peter's arms wrapped around himself tightly.
Damn, it was cold!
They clambered into the back of the car, getting buckled clumsily.
"Hi Pepper!" Peter smiled, bouncing in his seat.
"Hey, Pete." Making eye contact with Tony, she announced their evening plans. "So, we're going to get dinner at The Hat, and then we're going to go listen to Dvorák's Symphony number 5."
Tony looked uninterested, but Peter was the exact opposite.
"Dude, no way! I love Dvorák!"
"The Hat? What the hell is even that?" Tony said simultaneously.
"Hey, food is food, Mr. Stark." Peter chided, chin up.
"Silence, Padawan. When you've got money like I do, you don't eat at places that use objects for their names."
"Well, technically McDonald's isn't an object… Hey, neither is Arby's, or Wendy's!"
Pepper laughed at the two, turning to look out of the window.
The restaurant was… tacky.
Peter didn't want to say it--- He was sure the owners had spent a lot of time working on the decor, but the fake grapevines and the wallpaper bricks added a bit too much to the eye.
When they all sat down at the booth (Happy had gone home--- apparently he's too good for The Hat!), a tall waiter with spindly glasses set menus out in front of them.
After a few minutes of bickering over the menu, everyone had decided on their food. Now, they just needed to wait for the elusive waiter to return to take their order.
While Pepper and Tony were enthralled in a conversation about some weird 90s flick that Peter had never heard of, the waiter appeared.
"Hello, my name is Jason, and I'll be your server today. What can I get started for you?"
Peter awkwardly waited, until he realized that Jason was asking him first.
"Oh! Um, could I get the eggplant with rice? And- and maybe lemon water?" He said, looking at Tony and Pepper for approval.
"Of course. And you, Miss Potts?"
Everyone quirked an eyebrow at the fact that the waiter knew who she was, but it was to be expected, they supposed.
Once everything had been ordered, the food came out very quickly. Peter immediately began chowing down on the eggplant and naan, savoring the warmth and flavors.
"Kiddo, slow down. We can't go watch the thingy if you've choked to death."
"Sthorry Misther Sthark!" He coughed out through his bite. He was famished after a long day of schooling with barely any food, and his enhanced metabolism was not happy about it.
After an hour of meaningless conversation, the trio began the walk over to the concert house. Because The Hat was close to it, they decided to let Happy off the hook until the symphony was over.
Tony and Pepper were both fashionable and smart, with Tony wearing a thick suit coat and Pepper dawned in a fleece overcoat. Peter, on the other hand? He had a dress shirt and a bowtie to keep his arms warm, which was really nothing at all.
He tried to save face by rejecting the adult's offer of their coats and kept his chin up the entire way. But the bitter wind swept right through him, and when they made it to the concert hall, it wasn't any warmer inside either.
Sitting down, they had seats close to the front of the stage, near the door. They were a little late and entered right as the conductor began introducing the pieces that were going to be performed that night.
The symphony started abruptly, and Peter's attention immediately went to the first violins.
Their posture, the shine of their instruments, and the way they played tremolo to the piece made his internal itch to play so much worse. He was enraptured by the performance, and for the first two movements he barely moved from his position.
In the second movement of the symphony, Peter began to feel a mild sweat break out across him, the chill consuming him. He began to shake slightly in his seat, and Tony wrapped an arm around him to hold him close. He felt better.
A few minutes later, his stomach began to cramp. Sharp, unrelenting pain spread across his abdomen, and he didn't move; He didn't want to distract anyone from the performance. It would ease up in a minute--- No need to be dramatic.
The third movement began.
Peter's stomach was twisting and churning in pain, and he could feel watery bile rise up in his mouth. He didn't want to leave in the middle of a performance and be rude, but he didn't want to throw up in front of Tony and Dvorák's spirit.
Standing up abruptly, he slid his way out of the row, stumbling over people's knees and purses. Swallowing harshly, he mumbled out apologies as he made it to the doors that encased the concert hall.
When he got out, he stumbled up the winding hall, hand over his stomach and face contorted in pain. He found an attendant and tried to fix his posture the best he could. How embarrassing---!
"Do- Where is the nearest restroom?" He asked apologetically, eyebrows knit.
"There's some right down those stairs, to your left." The attendant looked at him briefly before returning their attention to the screen, watching the performance.
Peter felt dizzy; Like nothing was real, and as he stumbled down the stairs into the men's restroom, the world seemed to churn and twist around him.
Closing the stall door behind him, Peter fell to his knees and looked at the menacing toilet bowl.
Much to his surprise--- and dismay--- some overhead speakers played a live stream of the performance rather loudly, meaning Peter's encompassing nausea was accompanied by Dvorák's third movement.
In a futile act, Peter took deep breaths and tapped a melody out on his thighs, to distract himself from the nausea.
Miserably, he held himself over the toilet bowl, retching out pieces of rice and eggplant. His eyes watered, tears rolling down his face, meeting the bile that was streaming off his chin.
After heaving for what seemed like the entire symphony, Peter's entire body was shaking with the strenuous effort. He sniffled, looking down at what his body had rejected, when he saw dark brown coffee grounds mixed in with his once dinner. He pulled out his phone and opened Mr. Stark's contact, willing his thumbs to write semi-coherent words. He prayed the man had silenced his phone for once.
peeta pan (8:12)
mr stark i think somthings wrong
peeta pan (8:12)
cha tou come get me please in the bathroom
No response. Peter slid down against the stall door, turning his phone off and setting it down. For a moment, he thought about the last time these floors were cleaned, until he felt snot dribble down his lip.
Reaching the back of his hand up to wipe it away, he felt his breath stutter when it came back bloody. Peter had never been prone to getting bloody noses unless it was after being hit hard enough to warrant one. Grabbing some toilet paper and holding it to his nose, he checked his phone again.
peeta pan (8:15)
my nose ns bleeding and i think i threw up
blood
led zooploo (8:16)
Which bathroom are you in?
led zooploo (8:17)
Peter, answer me
led zooploo (8:19)
Kid, I can't help you if I don't know where you
are.
led zooploo (8:20)
This isn't funny
led zooploo (8:20)
Peter
led zooploo (8:20)
missed call
led zooploo (8:21)
missed call
led zooploo (8:22)
missed call
Ow.
Something pressed against his hand was itching him, and his body felt sore and weak.
Groggily, with his eyes still closed, he lifted his other hand, and started swatting and picking at whatever was pressed on his hand.
A firm, calloused hand grabbed Peter's wrist, and the boy decided to open his eyes.
Blearily, Peter drifted his gaze across the room, taking in the too-white walls with the IV rack and monitors around him. He zoned in on his mentor's worried face across from his. The static ringing in his ears buzzed in time with Tony's moving mouth, until it cleared completely.
"-r? Peter, can you hear me?" He asked frantically, the bags under his eyes playing testament to his worry.
"Wha' happen?" Peter eloquently stated.
"Oh my God. Peter, don't scare me like that." Tony moved forward, holding Peter's head to his arc reactor. Peter sighed into the touch, his IV-less hand leaving Tony's grasp and hugging around the other man.
Peter breathed deeply, before asking again. "What happened?"
Tony pulled back, sitting at the bedside stool. "You don't remember, really?"
"Um." Peter took a moment to think, before he cringed in embarrassment. "Dude, I puked at the Symphony. In front of Dvorák's ghost!"
Tony quirked an eyebrow at this. "Well, yes, but no, you dingit. You texted me all this… super scary shit and then went AWOL. It took me half an hour to find you, and when I did…"
The older man looked away regretfully, cueing Peter to grab his hand.
"Long story short, remember the guy from The Hat? The one who looked like Dr. T. J. Eckleburg from The Great Gatsby?"
Peter nodded.
"Well, long story short, he didn't really like us being there all that much, and mixed in a shit ton of fucking strychnine to your food. If you----"
Tony stops and takes a deep breath.
"It's damn good you're Spider-Man, Pete. I couldn't--- I was so scared."
"I'm sorry, Tony." Peter says softly, sitting up. "I didn't know."
"Kid, don't apologize. It's not your fault, I just wish--- I don't know. Don't scare me like that again, okay?"
"Okay." Peter said, nodding at his mentor. "This might be a touchy subject, but at least the food was good."
"Shut up, would you?" Tony groaned humorously.
"I'm really sad that I didn't get to watch the entire performance, though, you know?"
"'Bout that." Tony reached into his pocket and grabbed his phone. "May---"
"You told May?!" Peter guffawed. "She's going to freak!"
"Oh, don't worry, she already did. Thought she was going to kill me, honestly. But anyways, she told me about you and your… violining."
Peter stopped his pouting, staring at Tony with wide eyes.
" And, when you're up and at 'em, I want to take you to pick a new one.
"I've never told anyone this, so if it leaks in a press conference, I'm never talking to you again. But my mom taught me the piano before she died, and I've never had a reason to play since she passed.
"I was wondering if you and I could play together sometime?" He asked, hopefully.
Peter teared up at his mentor and pulled him into a tight hug.
"Yeah. That would be really nice."