#kid!pete

Pt.1

Pt.2

Needless to say, Peter’s on his best behaviour for the rest of the day. In fact, by the time the juniors arrive for their lessons, Frank’s been pulled aside by Ray, Bob and Ryan to ask if Peter’s getting sick again because of how quiet he’s been. “It won’t last, don’t worry.” Frank shakes his head, smiling fondly over at where his son is making sure the chairs are set up in a perfect circle. He’s moved one chair two centimetres to the left and back four times already. “I give it ‘til Monday before he’s back to normal.” Ray snorts into his coffee, inhaling some of the hot liquid in the process and spending the next ten minutes hacking out a lung and sneezing all over the front counter. Bob’s absolutely no help, choosing to put the box of pedal’s he’s carrying down to snap a dozen pictures before he continues on his way with this satisfied expression on his face that worries Frank. Slapping Ray’s back, Frank laughs. “Jesus, Toro. You make me feel better about Little Dude’s clumsiness – if you can make it to adulthood then even he can.” Peter stops shifting the chairs to perk up at the sound of his nickname and gets this worried crease between his brows when he notices Ray and his dad by the counter. Clearly so “Be there in a minute, kiddo.” Frank calls over, offering an encouraging smile and giving a big thumbs up once he’s sure Toro’s not going to die. “Good job with the chairs!” The little bit of tension that had settled along Peter’s frame dissipates at the praise and he bounces off to greet the first juniors to arrive. It’s the 5-6 group first up today, and Frank takes great pleasure in watching as Peter puffs up his chest and tries his best to imitate Bob’s ‘no-nonsense’ expression. It’s the only group he does this with, given they’re close to his age but god forbid someone comment that he’s still, technically, six. “Six and five sixes!” he grumbles whenever one of the kids tries to remind him that he’s not actually older than them. “You’re a sneaky son of a, you know that?” Bob comments having narrowly missed Peter charging into his legs in his haste to go fetch an extra chair for one of the parents. “I mean, don’t get me wrong, I applaud your child manipulation skills, but damn.” Frank takes a swing at Bob’s arm, landing a satisfying punch to the gut, “Not fuckin’ manipulating him, Bryar. How’d I know he’d actually listen this time?” Ray gives a thoughtful hum. “And I suppose your pulling out the big guns the day you get a fresh wave of new kids is just a coincidence?” he says softly, gaze flicking over before returning to the pile of paperwork he’s sifting through. Betrayed by his so-called friends, Frank scowls at both of them as they snicker. The issue is they’re not entirely wrong. Yes, it’s true that today’s class is an expansion of his usual program, and yes, should the kids stay after today’s taster it’ll mean a nice increase in his salary but really he didn’t fucking threaten his kid with being banned from the shop for that. Mostly. Peter’s good behaviour is really just a nice bonus for attracting permanent students. Shit, now he feels guilty. “Oh fuck you.” In an effort to escape the knowing looks of his friends, Frank scuttles off to introduce himself to the parents slowly filling the small store. With little incident (Danny Gilder turns a violent shade of green the moment Frank presents him with a guitar and is ushered out with a string of apologies from his mother) he manages to get everyone settled down. He’s happy to note there’s only one or two no-shows which, when dealing with kids this young, is expected. The lesson gets off to a good start, Frank getting the kids to just have a free-for-all with their guitars for a bit to get their attention and spark that excitement in their eyes that he’d gotten from Peter that first day. Sure enough, soon they’re all grinning and giggling, making an absolute racket. It’s because of the cacophony that Frank doesn’t hear the door jingling open and nearly jumps out of his skin when he turns round to find two more people at the edge of the circle. He catches himself before so much as a ‘f’ leaves his mouth and lets out a breathless laugh and waves at the newcomers. “Great job, everyone!” he cheers, “Now that I can see you’re all gonna be rockstars, we’re going to go through a little bit of the boring stuff, okay?” His words get a mixed response of proud smiles, eyes flying to the gaggle of parents seeking approval and heavy groans. Peter’s shifted so far forward on his chair he’s barely even seated as he waits for his cue. Sure enough, the moment Frank gestures towards his seat directly across from Frank’s he shoots up and rushes into the middle of the circle to join his dad, back ramrod straight, Bob expression in place. Frank can’t resist the opportunity to run his fingers through Peter’s hair, fully aware of the outraged glint in his son’s eye at the action. He can’t go letting the kid think he’s too powerful. “This is my assistant, Peter. He’s gonna show everyone what we’ll be learning for the next few months.” With a soft tug at Peter’s curls, Frank leaves him to his thing while he goes to greet the late-comers. He goes straight for the small boy, crouching down before sticking his hand out. “Hey there, little man. I’m Frank.” Hesitating for barely a moment, the brunette child takes the offering but says nothing. Frank narrows his eyes, leaning forward a little and whispers, “You must be here for guitar, huh?” There’s a small nod coupled with a suspicious frown in return. Smiling approvingly, he taps the kid’s knuckles, “I knew it. Gotta have strong fingers for guitar and you sure have those. What’s your name?” When there’s no response, Frank’s eyes flick up to the man dressed all in black, matching long hair lying in a tangled mess around his shoulders and thin lips sucked in as he chews on them. He startles slightly when Frank makes eye contact and trips over an introduction, out of the corner of his mouth. “This is Mikey – uh, Michael Way?” Frank smiles, making a note in the back of his mind about how pretty this guy’s eyes are, all hazel and warm and framed by lovely lashes. “It’s nice to meet you, Mikey. Why don’t you go join the others while we have a chat, okay?” Mikey gives another tentative nod before he shuffles over to the nearest unoccupied chair and picks up the guitar at his feet. It takes Frank a second to remember he no longer has to be at child height and straightens up awkwardly, offering a sheepish smile. It vaguely annoys him that standing up doesn’t have that much of an effect given that he’s still shorter than the man. “I find they respond better when you address them first. I’m Frank Iero, I’ll be teaching the kids.” He offers his hand again which is taken just as hesitantly with a warm damp palm and fingers painted with chipped black nail polish. “Gerard Way. So, uh, I didn’t really get all that many details about all this. Was kinda just told to be here at this time?” he pulls his hand back as he speaks, rubbing at the back of his neck and looking far too vulnerable for a man a head taller than Frank. It makes him hurry to acquiesce to the request and rattles through the lesson plan for the next three months, ending with a sweeping gesture towards the kids, “We’ll run through a few chords today, nothing big. Mostly I just want them to get into it, you know, so there’s gonna be a lot of unpleasant noise for the next hour. You can hang around with the other parents, or, if you’re comfortable leaving him we finish at four.” Gerard’s nodding his head before Frank’s even finished, taking a small step back towards the door with fingers twitching at his pocket. “I saw a coffee shop down the street so I’ll see you in an hour?” Frank nods, biting back a smile. “No problem.”

remember that control I don’t have? well here’s the first part of it:

Peter’s a troublemaker. Frank’s long since accepted this and adjusted his ways of parenting a dozen times in an effort to limit this troublemaking to the non-destructive. So far, the only thing that keeps the wriggly little six-year-old on a chair long enough to have as much of a conversation as one can have with a little kid, is Frank’s guitar. He first learned this trick when Peter was mid-tantrum about a month after the adoption was finalised two years ago. He just couldn’t get the kid to give up the screeching and stomping and crying so he’d done the only thing he could think of to preserve his own sanity. He flopped down on the big, hideous floral sofa he’d owned for years and started strumming away at his guitar, focusing all his attention on getting the chords to a tricky riff just right.

Peter continued to yell and throw himself around the room for a few more minutes before he abruptly stopped and shuffled over to watch Frank’s fingers move over the strings. “My turn?” the little boy asked, curling small fingers into fists repeatedly towards the guitar, crocodile tears and tantrum forgotten.

There was an awed intrigue in those big brown eyes that made Frank smile and pull his new son onto his lap to rest the guitar where Peter could reach.

The second the strings were within finger distance, Peter reached for them, a gleeful squeak leaving his lips every time he pulled on one. Frank tried to muffle his laughter as best he could, his body shaking with it when the child’s head snapped up to pout.

“No waughing, Fwank.”

Shaking his head and trying to smother his smile by biting his lip, Frank guided Peter’s hands back to the guitar, “That was really good, bud. How about we try this, yeah?” Screwing up his face in concentration, Peter turned to squint down at his fingers and nodded once, crying out happily when a more pleasant string of notes left the guitar.

“There we go!” Frank bounced his knee, sending Peter into a fit of giggles as he clutched the guitar and curled into his new dad’s side. “Look at you, you’ll be giving Toro a run for his money in no time, kid.”

The boy had absolutely no idea what he was talking about but the deep affection and praise that reverberated through every word made him blush and grin happily. “Again!” he patted Frank’s arm insistently, nose scrunched up once more and breath held in anticipation.

Since then, Peter’s been as mad about music as Frank. While he never doubted that adopting him was the best choice he’d ever make, Frank had some reservations about Peter accepting him as a father. Bonding over that guitar and spending so many subsequent hours feeding Peter all the information the bright boy hungered for, stripped Frank of those worries. In fact, watching the way he shifted into this bright bundle of determination the moment Frank pulled out his guitar made him find something he’d been searching for: what he wanted to do with his life. Within another month, Frank pulled himself together enough to approach Ray with the idea of starting up some guitar lessons – specifically, children’s guitar lessons.

So yes, Peter’s a troublemaker. His mood swings from one extreme to the next, he’s hard to keep up with, too intelligent for his own good and has a tendency to tear round Ray’s shop and leave more than one broken drum in his wake but he’s the best thing to ever happen to Frank.

“Peter Lewis Kingston Wentz, I swear on your grandma’s casserole if you don’t get down here now, you’re going home!”

The threat’s enough to send an active six-year-old flying down from the drum display – literally. Frank barely has a moment to lurch sideways before a bony pile of babbled apologies slams into his chest, scrabbling up to hug around his neck, “I’m down!” the child cheers cheekily, grinning toothily at the customers taking in the whole scene with more than a little shock.

Frank does his best to bite back his annoyance, choosing to smile apologetically before carting Peter off to the back room. “Bud, we’ve talked about this.” he begins once they’re safely tucked away from prying eyes, plopping his son on the counter, chucking him under the chin and raising an eyebrow pointedly in his best ‘I’m disappointed in you’ face. It works, for the moment at least.

Peter tucks his face down, bangs his sneakers against the cupboards and juts out his bottom lip, adding a little wobble for effect.

Frank snorts and tugs on the boy’s lip, “Nice try, Pepe. Not gonna work, you’re still in trouble.” That make’s Peter’s brow crinkle before he sighs and sits up straight, meeting Frank’s eye. “I wanna learn drums.”

He’s been expecting it for a while so it’s no surprise today’s little display was Peter’s way of forcing a decision. Frank pinches the bridge of his nose. “I’ll talk to Uncle Bob and see when he’s free, okay, kid?”

Peter pumps his fist in the air, jittery with excitement in seconds but Frank is quick to get back at the issue at hand.

He places a hand on his son’s shoulder before he tears off through the shop again and the small action centres Peter’s attention once more. “Peter, climbing all over Uncle Ray’s shop and almost breaking very expensive things is not how you get your way, alright?” In the two years Frank’s had him, he’s not once tried to dumb down the conversation for his son, fully aware that the spark in his eyes holds an intelligence most children Peter’s age lack. Ray swears this is half the reason Frank manages to keep the energy-riddled child under control most of the time.

The act pushed aside, Peter’s shoulders slump beneath Frank’s hand and he casts his gaze to the floor before whispering, “I know.”

Frank takes a deep breath and steels himself to deliver a message he really wishes he didn’t have to but knows needs to be made clear, “Uncle Ray does us a big favour letting you stay here after school, kid, but if you keep pulling stunts like this when I know you know better then we’re gonna have to make other arrangements.”

Peter all but falls off the counter in his attempts to protest this, shaking his head so violently his dad’s surprised it doesn’t pop off. “But guitar!” the child squeaks, eyes wide and horrified with the implications of not being at the shop in the afternoons. It means no more hanging around with the junior lessons where he’s the oldest and gets to trot around the room playing his more complex sets and being Frank’s ‘teaching assistant’.

“Show me you can ask for things instead of causing chaos to get them and we’ll talk about it, like big boys, okay?” to soften his words slightly, Frank waits for a jerky nod before he ruffles Peter’s brunette curls and scoops him off the counter into a hug. “Love you, Little Dude.”

“Love you too, Fwankie.” he hears mumbled into his shirt before the child is wiggling away when Ray’s voice drifts back calling for him.

Pt.2