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It had been a long time since Peter had ever gotten drunk. Considering that he got his powers at fourteen-ish, fifteen years old, he’s actually only been drunk once. It was after Ben had died and he drank all of the liquor contained in the apartment. Even then, he was only moderately buzzed.
May had come home early that night and he got in trouble. She almost took him to the ER because there was no way her nephew had drunk all this alcohol and not gotten alcohol poisoning. While it was a shock to her (not so much to him), he wasn’t poisoned. In fact, the alcohol had got out of his system so quickly, May blinked and she missed it. Since then, he’d sworn off drinking, if not for his sake, then May’s.
Now that Peter was in Gotham of all places, and bartending at one of her most affluent night clubs (courtesy of the Wayne family; and with sweet benefits), one would think that he’d be drinking to his heart’s content, breaking that promise. Nope. Why should he? He can’t get drunk anyways. And he only had the spider to blame.
“Hey, so I’ve noticed something,” said Stephanie one day as she lounged around the large office of the club. The rest of the Wayne boys, barring Damian, were there and looked at the blonde. Jason had draped himself over the back of the armchair Peter was on (it was Jason’s favorite and no one but Peter and him were allowed on it), and ran a rough hand through his chestnut curls.
Tim was just laying down horizontally on a couch, resting his back against the armrest, coffee in hand with Dick nearby, just absently gazing at the side of Peter’s face. Peter was on his computer, which was neatly placed on his lap, typing away for a paper that was due in a few days.
“What’s that, Steph?” He didn’t pay much attention, squinting at the bright screen.
‘Who the fuck cares about MLA formatting anyways? This is an engineering course!’ He thought with a frown. Whoever made this class was ridiculous and should be banned from teaching. Forever.
“Even though you’re a bartender, you don’t drink.” Peter paused in his typing.
“So?”
“So…” Steph drawled, a smirk curving her lips, “you work with alcohol! I thought it was a given that you’d drink.” Peter matched her smirk, not noticing the lovesick smiles that affected the faces of the Wayne boys (at least, what can count as lovesick smiles to them).
“I think that watching people get too drunk on a daily basis has sworn me off from drinking.” The blonde rolled her eyes.
“That’s a bullshit excuse and you know it.” Peter shrugged.
“I guess I just don’t drink.” Steph gaped, causing Tim and Dick to huff a laugh.
“Even Harley drinks! And after what happened, I didn’t think she would ever drink again!” A short hiss came from Jason and the blue eyes of the adopted siblings came to rest on their friend. She just shrugged, knowing they wouldn’t do anything too drastic. Peter’s eyes saddened at the thought of what had happened a few months ago.
He had texted Mr. Stark earlier, alerting him of the status of his dearest friend. It was weird because Mr. Stark, as cool as he wants to be, was concerned about her. Of course, the billionaire had brushed it off, scoffing, but he could see his mentor’s real feelings. He’s a real softie underneath all that layer of pompous ass. Peter, back in the present, snorted, pushing off the comment with a hard shove, before a bright idea came to him. Internally, he smirked.
“Fine. The reason why I don’t drink is because I don’t want to get drunk.” The hand tangled in his hair paused.
“Wait, you don’t want to get drunk?” Peter nodded. “Is this because of your powers?”
“Yup. I just don’t want to. You remember Steve?” Jason narrowed his blue-green eyes and cracked his knuckles, his rage growing at the thought of the other billionaire.
“The asshole who tried to convince you to go back to that tower? Oh I remember.” Peter rolled his eyes and caught Jason’s hand, bringing it down to rest on his shoulder, barely brushing his neck.
‘You would think that his dad dating my dads would lower his resentment, but apparently, not,’ he thought with exasperation.
“He was not trying to steal me to the tower. I’m not a princess, Jason.” The older man grinned down at him, eyes hungry.
“Whatever you say, princess.” Peter huffed and continued, a blush spreading across his pale cheeks at the nickname. Tim chuckled, amused at his interest’s embarrassment.
“He just suggested that I get back to my own universe. It’s a reasonable request.” Dick joined in, scowling severely.
“He tried to take you from us. That’s not reasonable at all.” The brown eyed boy wanted to add in,
‘Nothing is reasonable when it comes to distance with me,’ but refrained. That was another argument for another day.
“Whatever. Point is, he’s a super soldier. Same with Bucky, and they’re known for holding their own with alcohol. Thor is a God. He can hold his own too. But they can get drunk. I’ve seen them get drunk. It’s not pretty.”
“So you just don’t drink.” He shook his head.
“Nope.” A moment of silence commenced before Dick jumped off the couch, an excited grin on his face.
“I don’t believe you.” The flicker of glee on his handsome face already had Peter’s stomach rolling slightly, but that’s fine. Everything was going perfectly.
“Dick,” he called after the man, causing him to turn around.
“Yes, darling?” Peter gave him a deadpan look.
“No.” In response, being the immature little shit he is, he placed his hands on his ears and began chanting,
“I CAN’T HEAR YOU!”
“Charming,” Peter muttered, though a bit fondly. After a bit of shuffling and the clinking of glasses as they were grabbed, the eldest Wayne sibling came back with about three bottles of different alcohols and shot glasses.
“We’re changing that tonight.” Peter shifted awkwardly in his seat, his gut twisting in anxiety. He’s seen how destructive Steve, Bucky and Thor can be when they’re mad while drunk (not that they’re mad often or drunk often or doing both often, but he’s seen it, and it was bad).
“But,” his softer voice garnered the attention of everyone in the room, “what if I-”
Before he got to finish his sentence, Jason grabbed his face and laid a gentle kiss on his lips. Peter peered up at the older man through his lashes, his teeth worrying his lip.
“You’ll be fine, angel. You won’t hurt us.” He tugged Peter’s bottom lip away from his teeth before rubbing the pad of his thumb across it with a soft motion. “You’re too sweet to do that to anyone. Besides, we can take care of ourselves. You know that.” Peter’s large eyes darted around to everyone in the room, all with encouraging smiles on their faces. Acting as best as he could, he slumped, giving them the appearance of defeat.
“Okay,” he whispered his agreement, and Steph whooped loudly.
“Let’s go!” Everyone was quickly seated at the large table and five shot glasses were laid out neatly.
Dick, with a dramatic flourish, opened the first bottle, causing everyone to roll their eyes in exasperation. He poured up to the brim in every glass and pushed them to the corresponding people.
Everyone got ready, glass in hand and at Dick’s request, clinked their glasses together with a resounding and loud,
“Cheers!” The reverb that vibrated from the glass seemed to run down the length of his arm forever. He brought the glass to his lips and tipped his head back.
-----
Three bottles finished and he was barely anywhere near tipsy. The same could not be said, however, for anyone else. They all laid their heads on the table, too drunk to even move. Incoherent mumbles were thrown around and Peter huffed a laugh. For all they liked to show, they really couldn’t handle their alcohol well. Though, he was pretty sure that was because Dick did something to make the alcohol more potent than before, without the added physical consequences. Tim loved to cook many things up in the lab. This was probably one of his works.
Suddenly, heavy footsteps sounded down the hallway and Peter tensed in his seat as they drew closer. His hand immediately went to his watch, ready to press the button in the case of him needing it. Panic tore through his system as his Spidey Sense started blaring loudly. How could he take care of four inebriated people and fight off someone at the same time?! The footsteps stopped and the doorknob turned, letting the door swing open to only reveal Damian.
Peter let his shoulders drop with a sigh.
“Jesus Christ, Dami, don’t scare me like that.” A small amused smile quirked his lips as Damian stared at Peter nearly pouting in his seat.
“I apologize, beloved. I will warn you of my presence next time.”
“You better,” the older of the two grumbled before getting out of the chair to go and hug the green eyed man. Larger arms wound their way around him, trapping Peter in Damian’s embrace. “It’s been a while, Damian,” he mumbled into the darkly clothed chest.
“It has been, beloved. Far too long, in my opinion.” Peter felt rather than heard that statement. Damian really had been working out more.
“You literally miss me going to the grocery store.” Peter looked up and there was an honest to God pout on Damian’s face. It was adorable.
“Any kind of distance makes me miss you, my dear.” Peter blushed.
“Typical,” he muttered albeit fondly. As much as he claimed to hate them, he took after his brothers far more than he gives credit for. Finally, Damian rested his eyes upon his half-passed out brothers and emotionally adoptive sister.
“What happened here?”
“Dick challenged me to a drinking contest. I am $500 richer.” Damian rolled his eyes.
“As if you need the money. We are your benefactors. As is Stark.” The name rolled off bitterly on Damian’s tongue, as if it physically pained him to say it. Peter laughed and Damian continued. “There is hardly any need for you to want for anything on your own when we can provide it. Also,” he paused for a second, “how are they drunk and you’re not? I thought you said you don’t drink?” Peter shrugged.
“I said I don’t drink. I never said I can’t.” A mischievous smile lit up the chestnut haired man’s face. “Besides, I can’t get drunk anyways. Benefit or consequence of the bite, depending on how you look at it.” Damian looked at him with incredulity.
“So you tricked them into a drinking game?” He shrugged again.
“Hey, if I can’t get drunk, might as well make some profit right?” Damian looked up at the ceiling, his arms still around Peter, holding him to his chest.
“I really need to stop you hanging around Stark. He’s a bad influence.” His beloved nudged him, a bit harder than usual. He winced.
“Be nice.” He tipped his head in accordance, easily agreeing. It was Peter, after all. There wasn’t anything in the world that Peter couldn’t get him to do.
“Fine,” he sighed sufferingly, before looking down at the doe eyes that gazed up at him. “But you,” he ran his thumb across the flesh of his cheek, “need to help me get these imbeciles home, lest they swallow their own tongues.” Peter snorted and sighed in a similar fashion, long and dramatic.
“Fine,” he mimicked and batted away the hand that swatted at his ass.
Getting everyone in the car was more trouble than it was worth. Alfred was nice enough to drive while Peter and Damian took care of his drunk siblings. Jason woke up and started groping Peter, who slapped him so hard that he passed out again. Damian laughed until he was out of breath.
At one point, Peter was sure someone farted (pretty sure it was Steph) and it stunk up the whole car. Alfred had to turn down the window to let out the stench. And out of nowhere, Tim and Dick wake up, only to start singing ABBA’s Dancing Queen loudly out the window of the car that was already open. Peter panicked and yanked them back inside, where they kept singing as Peter tried to calm them down. Damian, the little shit, did nothing but record this magnificent on his phone.
“Blackmail material,” was his excuse. It was a lot of work to get those people safely inside the mansion so if Damian drew interesting doodles on his sibling’s faces once they were all home, Peter didn’t mention it.