Spiderdad

39

"Hey, Peter," Ned greeted as he hurried to his friend's side, "is MJ okay?"

"Yeah- I mean basically. I think," Peter rambled, "I mean, yeah. She'll be okay."

Ned knit his brow in confusion, "that was... confusing."

"Yeah, I know," Peter sighed, "I'm just exhausted. But trust me, she's okay."

"That's good. So how much longer until Baby's born?" 

"I think around two months," Peter replied as the two walked towards their first class of the day, "probably a little less."

Ned nodded, "got any names in mind?"

"Well, Adrian's got a massive list but his favorite is Antonia because it's like the feminine version of Anthony," Peter explained as they sat at their desks.

"And Anthony refers to Tony?" He checked, "hm, I like that."

"I think I do too. MJ isn't sure yet but I don't blame her. But we have decided that Baby's middle name is going Quentin."

Ned's face scrunched up in disgust, "no, Peter. Please don't do that to your baby."

"Oh shut up," Peter rolled his eyes, "it's a good name and I actually really liked him."

"I never thought you'd join the dark side," Ned shook his head.

Peter rolled his eyes at his friend and averted his gaze to the teacher as she began her lesson. He wasn't sure why, but he couldn't help but get annoyed when Quentin was referred to as a villain. Even if he was a "bad guy," he was a fairly good person despite betraying Peter, trying to kill him and his friends, and ruining Spiderman's reputation. Okay, so "good person" might have been an overstatement, but Peter still respected him and in some ways felt sorry for him. 

"Was anything you said true?" Peter hissed desperately as he kept his hands clasped over the wound on Quentin's chest. 

"I did have a family," Quentin replied solemnly, "but my wife left me, taking our daughter with her, after Tony fired me."

Peter relaxed his tense muscles and his shoulders slumped a little, "so... Mr. Stark took all of the credit for the tech you guys made, renamed it BARF, and used it as a personal therapy session instead of being innovative with it like you had intended, then fired you for disagreeing?" the man nodded and Peter frowned, "I mean that's pretty fucked. But I can't say I blame him for firing you... you're pretty mentally unstable."

"And you're not?"

Peter laughed, "yeah, I am. Just not in the way you are. You really seem like you need some professional help. I understand why Tony fired you, but he should have offered or suggested a psychiatrist."

Quentin sighed and coughed heavily. Peter's heart raced anxiously as he kept his hands firmly over the wound. He couldn't be the reason this man died. He needed him to stay alive so he could get the help he needed, then maybe Peter could convince Tony to give him his job back! It was wishful thinking, and Tony could be a bit of a douche when it came to Peter having a good idea, but it was worth a shot.

"Hang in there, Quentin," Peter spoke, "S.H.I.E.L.D agents will be here any second and they can take care of you."

Quentin couldn't help but crack a smile, "you remind me of my daughter."

"B-but I'm a boy?"

"Sound less awkward when you say it and I might believe you."

Peter couldn't help but spit out an awkward chuckle, making Quentin grin softly. Suddenly, Quentin coughed and winced again, renewing Peter's panic. Where the fuck were the S.H.I.E.L.D agents?! Quentin didn't have much life left in him, Peter could see it slipping away. 

The boy found himself trapped in a sickening sense of deja-vu. It was like being on the sidewalk, cradling his dying uncle as he desperately tried to stop the bleeding all over again. He cared about Quentin, he couldn't help it. And he was dying because of Peter, just like with Uncle Ben. 

"Man, don't die," Peter begged, trying to resist the urge to cry. 

Quentin choked and coughed, his body finally failing him, "y... you're a good kid, Pete."

The blood was drained from Peter's face, making him as pale as ghost. Quentin went limp and Peter listened to his heartbeat slow to a stop. Just like with Uncle Ben.

"Shit... Quentin, I'm so sorry," he breathlessly choked out. 

"Peter!" The teacher called, "are you paying attention?"

Peter's head jerked up to attention and he looked at the board for answers, only to find a clean slate, "absolutely not. What are we doing."

"Detention. Three hours, after school."

"Can you at least tell me what we're doing?"

"Four hours, after school."

Peter sighed and leaned back in his chair. If he had a nickel for every time he had gotten detention, he would officially be richer than Tony Stark.