Hopeless || A P. Parker destruction story ✨Irondad✨

Thirteen

By the time he made it back to McCarey's house he's around ten minutes late. Considering Peter did absolutely no work at his shift today and instead had a panic attack and then (family?) dinner- which was somehow wrapped up by 6:15- Peter was content.

This feeling, of course, faded as he puts his keys in the door. His Spidey sense didn't even have to warn him about how McCarey was there, lurking, skulking in the hallway, waiting for him to come in. He could feel her dingy mood from a street away.

The door shut softly behind him.

McCarey was where he had expected her. A vile glare on her face, her lips pursed like she'd smelt something awful — Peter, when he'd walked in.

Peter made quick work of taking off his shoes and coat, trying to ignore the way McCarey's gaze made the hairs along his arm rise.

"Will you ever learn how to read a clock poppit" her voice was cold though somehow still sweet, and at the nape of Peter's neck a pin prick of panic began to stir.

Perhaps he was pushing it, being late so often. It wasn't always his fault, public transport was unreliable at best, but something was telling him that McCarey might begin to take more drastic measures if he kept showing up late. She had clear rules, it was only fair she set harsher punishments.

If no food wasn't punishment enough.

"Where's the money then?"

Peter handed over his weekly wage, Mr Stark had given it to him with a concerned smile on his way out, now he gave McCarey her portion.

He watched as she filtered through it, making sure to count each bill. At least Peter got some satisfaction from knowing that he saved a little for himself, Dela and Luka.

Satisfaction that even though McCarey had this terrible effect on him, he was able to get at least one up when it came to his own wage. If only by a little bit.

"It's all there" she said after a moment. She looked down her sharp nose at Peter. "No dinner. Perhaps when your smart enough to tell the time, I'll indulge you".

Peter said nothing, his eyes locked on her cold ones.

Clearly he didn't react enough, because McCarey's smile turned sharper and she took a step forward.

Subconsciously Peter took a step back, the corner of McCarey's lips twisted up in a smirk. Seemingly satisfied at that reaction she added,

"Well, off to bed then, sweet. I have no use of useless, stupid boys. You're nothing but a nuisance".

Peter tried to let the words roll of his back, but he'd be the first to admit they stung, especially after today, and how he's waisted everyone's time with his panic attack over a stupid bowl.

He made it up the stairs in record time.

He got into his room — which was as empty and white and sterile as when he'd moved in—  and changed into some more comfortable clothes, clothes he'd unintentionally end up sleeping in.

Dela and Luka appeared at his door after ten minutes, having heard him come up.

Peter felt his shoulders relax, and a tiny spark of that same content-ness from the internship came back, as Dela pulled him into a tight hug.

"How was your shift?" Her voice was calm, though quiet as to not alert McCarey to their "secret" gathering.

Peter's face wobbled but he said "Nice in the end. We had pasta".

Luka seemed to release a little breath, "Good, I'm glad you got dinner" was all he said, but the unspoken; you missed quiet a few this week, enough that I've noticed, was still heard.